Perception
by Fraying Threads
Summary: The subject of time is different for everyone. For Ace, he had been trapped too long on the Moby Dick. For the Whitebeards, 78 days had been way too short. When Ace is given the reprieve from his head and dilemma to fight or stay, he is thrown into a worse hell than he thought possible. At least, here, he isn't alone. Warnings for potential torture and angst.
1. 78 days

**Hey all,**

 **Short story. Should be capped, at max, 5 chapters! Hope you guys like it!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece or any of its characters.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1: 78 days  
**

78 days, Marco counted in his head. 78 days since his capture – and yes, he admitted grudgingly to himself, that that was exactly what had occurred – and with it came 78 daily assassination attempts. He looked on as the new kid crashed into a railing, before proceeding to bounce off it to fall over the other side. He saw the kid flail about to grasp at something, only to fail to begin his descent towards the waters. A loud splash followed in his wake. The blonde didn't have to look to know one of his poor brothers had gone after the kid, if the second splash was of any indication.

He held back a snort. The kid may be an idiot, but he had guts, at least. The commander turned away from the now all too common scene. It had been entertaining at first, seeing the super rookie get thrown about after charging at his father. Though it had made some of his newer brothers and sisters uneasy to have such a hothead on board their home and out for their father's blood, most of them hadn't worried. Whitebeard could take care of himself. And so could they. But the constant 'fights' had eventually lost its appeal.

Though Ace might try to hide it, he wasn't a bad kid. 78 days, Marco thought again. The teen may have secluded himself away from the crew for 78 days, but they were still confined together on a ship. Ace couldn't hide how he strayed away from the weaker members of their crew, and when he couldn't, he'd refuse to engage them, chalking up the excuse that fighting them would be the equivalent of fighting a wall. He'd steal from their food storages, but wouldn't attempt to poison them with a concoction one of his brothers had accidentally dropped. When confronted, he had simply attributed it to his desire to see them die a more painful death. That, and several other incidents, and Marco was convinced the kid was just an arrogant brat who had misguided beliefs.

Try as he might, the kid couldn't hide the better- the good part of himself from them, not when so many of them were sea-hardened sailors who have long learnt the importance of keen observation on those around them. It showed all the more when the kid was tired, and hungry. Which, he thought unhappily, was nearly every moment of every day.

And knowing his family, he wasn't the only one to have noticed.

78 days.

The commander turned towards the kitchens. Some of his brothers ran past him, huge, large (and fluffy) towels in hand.

"Just dump it on him, yoi," he said mildly.

His siblings barely nodded in acknowledgement as they headed to the deck. Everyone had learnt the hard way that, between offering and forcing help on the new kid, which was the more effective option. And they would rather the kid resent them for a little longer than fall terribly sick (like that incident he refused to forget but didn't want to remember either a few weeks back).

With everything he had gathered about Ace, he – and everyone else – had slowly found his every assassination attempt another incident to get over with before he gave in and joined their ranks. He could no longer bring himself to enjoy even the slightest entertainment each failure brought, could no longer stop himself from worrying when the teen grew more haggard and exhausted around the edges.

Ace had begun to withdraw even more, no doubt beginning to realise the futility of his actions. No doubt beginning to look at his alternatives. To be free, and alone? Or to be free under their flag, with a family ready to rally at his side at a moment's notice? Marco sometimes wondered if the kid even realised the weight of their sincerity towards family. That that idea of family was ready to be embraced by him at any time.

He strode into the kitchens and headed for the basket of freshly baked bread and soup. He would have frowned, but then vaguely recalled Thatch mumbling about heavy food and "bad for an empty stomach" the other day. Before the commander left, basket in hand, some of the older and grim chefs slipped past and dropped something into his load. A quick glance confirmed it as a glass of milk. He shot his brother a look of thanks, only to be brushed aside with slight grumbling for him to get out.

He inwardly smiled. They were all just soft-hearted morons, really.

As Marco made his way back to the secluded and out of the way area Ace always ran to after another failed attempt, he wondered if the kid was slowly giving up. The fire devil fruit user had started to adapt to assassination attempts that struck at the same hour each day now, and spent the rest of the day sulking or simply resting till the sun set. It's like the kid was slowly losing fuel to keep fighting.

Marco only hoped, when he finally came to the end of that journey of self-deprivation, he'd see that they had been by his side for a long time now.

After all, it had already been 78 days.

* * *

Ace dumped the dry (and really fluffy) towels into a hidden compartment he had found by accident a few weeks back. He slid the panels back into place, careful to keep the wood from screeching in protest. Guess his bed would be a little softer tonight.

He sighed. He hadn't meant to fall into the sea. He had already fallen overboard so many times the past 78 days that the sensation of numbness and freezing cold had begun to haunt at his every nerve even when he was dry and warm on the Moby Dick. _You'd think you'd be more used to it_ , he thought bitterly. _That maybe it wouldn't bother you anymore. But, of course it has to have the opposite effect._

He hated falling into the sea now. It hadn't been terrible before this whole kidnapping incident. Sure, he had fallen overboard multiple times, with his crew never failing to come after him (to be followed by a stern talking to by each and every member), but the experience had merely remained unpleasant. The first time he was thrown off this stupid whale ship he had been terrified. Afraid that he'd die choking on the waters that was supposed to send him to freedom, with his every thought forced to slow until his consciousness blinked out of existence. Frantic that the last real feeling he'd remember was the rawness in his throat. Scared that the last thing he'd see wasn't his brother, or even the vast blue sky, but that of a distant glare that dulled with every passing second. Most of all, he was stricken with the thought that Luffy would never know the fate that had befallen his older brother.

The feeling only exacerbated with each subsequent dive. Helpless. Cold. Alone.

Now that he thought of it, it all seemed silly. The Whitebeards, for some reason or other, never failed to save him. It had, he had grudgingly realised, come to a point where he knew they'd save him. He had begun to develop a sort of aversion (never fear, he told himself) towards the water, and tried to ensure when – _if_ – he was thrown back, he'd hit solid ground instead. But sometimes, like today, he would miscalculate.

He shuddered at the brief reminder of water gliding over his body, as it sapped at his strength. It didn't matter now. The deed had been done. At least now…

At least now he had other things to think about. Like how the Whitebeards were being kinder to him. Not that they had been particularly mean to him in the first place. He still remembered how they had laughed at his pathetic attempts to off their father at first. Jokingly told him to knock it off, he recalled. Now, they only appeared sombre when he did fail, as if quietly demanding him to get his task over and done with. But Ace knew that was the petty part of him talking. They weren't happy about something, and it had something to do with his attacks on their Captain. But…he had the feeling it wasn't really what he did that had them upset. Something was worrying them, and he was involved.

He heaved a deep sigh. Maybe they were finally getting sick of him and wanted him to leave without giving them reason to feel bad. He refused to think why that left an ache in his chest.

A deep, but lilting voice interrupted his thoughts. "There you are."

Ace startled out of his reverie and looked up, eyes wide. Next to him, a few steps away, was the sixteenth commander (he thought, at least. His mind seemed hazy sometimes these days). The older pirate was leaning against the handrail, one of his hands resting on his hip. Ace would never admit it, but he struggled to keep his attention from slipping to focus on the way the kimono the other man donned flared in a gentle wave about him. The pirate was dangerous, he knew, but he was also really pretty.

The other man seemed to wait until Ace zeroed and willed his attention on him. If the fire-user was willing to trick himself into further self-loathing, he would even say the commander had looked a tad concerned for a while there.

"What do you want?" he snapped. He turned his body to face the unwelcome visitor (was he really unwelcome? What was the worst that could happen, anyway?), flames sputtering feebly at his shoulders. He made for a pathetic threat, but it was better than giving up, right?

"My name is Izo," the older pirate finally said. "I must apologise. I hadn't realise you didn't know my name until today. I would have-"

"I don't care what your name is," Ace sneered. "Just do whatever it is you want and _leave_."

The Whitebeard didn't appear at all bothered by the interruption. "I would have introduced myself earlier. But I didn't want to overwhelm you, what's with the sheer size of my family." His eyes remained unreadable, though Ace didn't miss how they rested so heavily on him. "I hope you're not offended by my late introduction."

The fire-user inwardly rolled his eyes. Why wouldn't the man leave already? He was tired, exhausted, wrung out- _everything_ that meant he just wanted to lay down and _rest_. He wondered how worth it it was to keep up his image of hostility. Would Izo (that was the name, right?) be alarmed if he just dropped in a heap and slept? "Yeah, well, I don't care. I just want you to go away." He made it a point to narrow his eyes.

Izo inclined his head. "I am glad you aren't offended," he said, purposely ignoring his intended message. He reached into his kimono and pulled out…an orange thing- a pillow? It was small and square, the width roughly the length from his shoulder to shoulder. How had Ace missed the bulk of it hiding in the guy's clothing?

While the fire-user silently berated himself, the Whitebeard deftly grabbed at his arm and shoved the offending thing into his grasp. Ace remained frozen at the unexpected touch (and it was so, so warm) and watched, his senses somewhat dulled (he thought maybe the water was affecting him still), as the kimono-clad pirate stepped away. The earlier look of concern (fake, his mind screamed) reappeared and the man seemed to have to hold back from…doing something.

"I hope your rest will go better with this, Ace," Izo said. His lips tugged into a gentle smile. He gestured at the pillow and looked pleased when Ace held it closer (he hadn't realised he did). "Marco will be along soon with your lunch. You could just settle down until he gets here."

The fire-user clamped his mouth shut when an automatic "okay" almost slipped past his tongue. He remained quiet, his gaze suspicious, as the commander nodded at him and left.

When the last of the man's fabrics escaped his line of sight and disappeared around the corner, he felt his insides clench in familiar pain. He hunkered down on himself then, the pillow clutched tightly in his arms.

He didn't know how long more he could go on like this.

His guess was…only for a while more. Right now, all he wanted to do was curl up, sleep, and while away the hours doing nothing. He wanted to go back home.

Ace let out a heavy breath.

It had already been 78 days, after all.

* * *

Sandaled feet came to a stop in front a hunched figure, the latter curled up so tightly as if to impersonate a ball, except this one breathed and was, at one side, plastered against several wooden crates. Above them was an arch that shadowed much of the silent teen. It casted spidery shadows over his lithe (but thinning) form. For whatever reason, he seemed even younger than his 18 year (at least, that's how old they thought he were).

Marco carefully sidestepped the loose floorboard he knew was next to him and lowered the basketful of food to the floor. Briefly contemplating the perks and not-so-good perks of staying put till Ace woke, he took the time to eye the kid up and down, his blue eyes sharpening to see through the darkened area for any sign of injury or illness. Other than the customary bruises and cuts, he couldn't spot anything too worrying, though he failed to banish the possibility of internal injury. Goodness knows the brat wouldn't volunteer the information.

Part of him urged him to leave. Routine had proven the kid would rail against him before giving in to eat. The look in the grey eyes admitted a tiredness that understood the futility of fighting back, and it grew more pronounced with each passing day. But, like the stubborn D. carrier he was, Ace never failed to at least raise his hackles.

The Phoenix rubbed the bridge of his nose. Then again, his earlier meeting with Izo had reinforced his suspicions that Ace's mental health was deteriorating. And quickly.

" _Marco," Izo greeted quietly. A frown marred the commander's features, an odd look on the usually graceful pirate. It was one of the reasons Izo hated to frown or be angered._

" _Izo," the Phoenix responded almost in reflex. He raised an eyebrow. "What is it, yoi?"_

 _The sixteenth commander eyed the basket in his arms, then returned his attention to his older brother. "You were right. There is something about Ace that worries me."_

 _Marco blinked. "But I hadn't said anything to you…?" he trailed off._

 _The other man simply looked unimpressed. "I've known you long enough to tell you already have your suspicions, brother." He waved the subject away. "I went to see Ace earlier to introduce myself. He was exhausted. And confused. I don't think he really understood what was going on."_

 _It was the blonde's turn to frown. "He already knows who you are, yoi," he said slowly. Ugly realisation crept onto him. "You mean he was in such poor state of mind he forgot he already knew?"_

" _Like I said, confused. It worries me. He hadn't put much of a fight when I gave him the pillow I made either."_

" _You mean he hadn't put up a fight at all," Marco said. At the other's blink, he rolled his eyes. "I know you too." He sighed. "It's worse than I thought, yoi. I'll make sure he doesn't starve himself and see what I can do from there." He continued towards the deck. "Get the others to tone down their treatment of him," he called over his shoulder. "Goodness knows they weigh him down."_

Marco started when the teen shifted. The kid must have realised he was no longer alone, for he immediately tensed. The blonde worked to keep his features impassive when grey eyes met his.

"I brought you your lunch, yoi," he said, pointing at the basket.

Ace's gaze darted towards the proffered food. As if in answer, his stomach grumbled loudly, and Marco could see faint blotches of colour redden the teen's cheeks. He offered a small smile, careful not to appear mocking.

"Just in time," he said casually. "Mind if I join you?"

The freckled pirate seemed to snap out of it then and glared at the commander. "Yes," he hissed. "I don't want company." Then, as if in afterthought, and as if it pained him greatly to say it, he forced out through gritted teeth, "And I don't want your stupid food."

"If you don't eat it, we'd have to throw it out," Marco pointed out reasonably. "Thatch cooked it with you in mind. The doctors said your body should take in soft foods to facilitate easier digestion, yoi."

He was met with a scowl. "I don't need your consideration," he said, voice cold and glacial. "You say he made it just for me? Easier to poison me too, I'm sure."

"If we wanted to off you by poison, you'd be dead by now." The blonde tilted his head, as if deep in thought. "Besides, making the poison would have been too troublesome."

Ace rose to his feet. To the commander's surprise, the kid held the orange pillow that must have been from Izo close to his chest. He was careful not to look at it. He didn't want to risk the kid throwing it away. "Stop making fun of me!" the fire-user was saying. "I must be fucking hilarious to you people. Stuck here, on your stupid ship, forced to eat your stupid food, with-with all of you making fun of me!"

Marco would normally expect Ace now to throw a punch or two before going on to explicitly express his displeasure with them for their hospitality. Instead, he stiffened when he caught an odd glimmer in the other's eyes.

"Ace, yoi," he said carefully, gently. "We are not making fun of you." He worked to keep his gaze off the moisture that seemed to fill the younger's eyes. "I'm sorry we made you feel that way."

"I don't care if you're sorry!" Ace burst out. An expression not unlike despair flashed across his countenance, clear even as his boyish features frowned in attempted aggravation. "I don't- I- I just want-"

Calm. "What is it that you want?"

The teen breathed heavily. "I want you to _leave me alone_!"

The commander lifted his arms, palms out, in a gesture of peace. He inclined his head. "I understand," he said after a moment. He paused again. "Are you alright?"

Silence met his question. He wasn't quite sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn't the way the fire-user started, only to stare at him with widened grey orbs. The tears that had gathered dropped onto his cheeks. It left a wet, dark patch in its wake, and for some reason, the commander couldn't pull his gaze away.

A soft voice snapped him out of it. "78 days," the teen said quietly.

 _78 days._

"Of course I'm alright."

A shuttered look met his.

"It's only been 78 days."

* * *

Ace hated himself.

If he had known he was going to cry like a baby, he'd have thrown himself into the sea (he knew he wouldn't have; that wasn't the way he wanted to die) and get himself far, far away from the Whitebeard pirates. But then, there wasn't a place he could think of that wasn't too near. His mind conjured up an image of the Moby Dick venturing into East Blue in an attempt to find their runaway stowaway. Not to recruit him anymore, he was sure, but to set an example of him. That was how the Whitebeards worked, didn't they? They punished those who tarnished their name or hurt one of their own so only the foolish would dare to incur their wrath. That was how the crew protected themselves.

The fire-user pressed the back of his fingers into his eyes, hard, silently berating himself for that moment of slipped weakness. Oh, how far he had fallen.

Just almost a year back and he was off sailing for the adventure he had been preparing for all his life. Now, he was caged in, alone. No one was going to find him and drag him, probably kicking and screaming the whole way still, out. _Like it's always been_ , a voice whispered in his head. The faint brushes of determination tugged at his insides, and he remembered with certain clarity how he had once resolved to take Whitebeard down or die trying. Now that same resolve flickered and wavered weakly.

He wasn't quite sure what to do now.

The teen knew, deep down, that he couldn't go on like this. It had been 78 days since his last real interaction with his crew. And after 7 years with Luffy, he wasn't used to long periods of isolation anymore. Especially on board a ship where he was the odd one out, where everyone else was supposed to be an enemy.

Now, even the slightest hint of warmth made his heart ache with longing. Heck, the Phoenix's simple question ( _Are you alright?_ ) was almost enough to send him into hysterics. And when the pirate in the kimono had touched his arm, Ace thought he was ready to bawl. It didn't help that the other members of the crew seemed to fall over themselves to "help him out".

And crazy though he was, the 17-year-old knew his reactions to their stupid smiles and invitations were very, very bad.

He hunched further into himself. _Get your shit together, Ace._

Maybe it was time he seriously began to think of other ways to get off this ship.

* * *

"78 days," Whitebeard mused. "I didn't realise it had been that long."

The commanders were scattered across his room. Haruta sat at his feet, chin pillowed on his hands, his elbows tucked between his knees. Jozu was beside him, and, now and then, reaching out to ruffle the younger pirate's brown locks. Vista and Namur stood by the door, Izo next to Thatch on Whitebeard's left, and Marco had made himself comfortable in the plush purple arm chair (he had ignored the looks when he had gone straight for it, knowing his siblings believed he liked it for its colour), reading glasses on his nose and a notebook in hand. Any commanders absent had been too busy to attend.

The flames by the fire place flickered, sending dark, spidery shadows across the dimly lit room. Coupled with the faint scent of vanilla flowers and almonds, the Captain's sleeping quarters gave an air of cosiness that none of them seemed to achieve in their own private spaces.

The Phoenix flipped a page, the crinkling of paper loud and deliberate. "Yes, yoi," he said after a small pause. "It appears we have waited too long."

The Yonko raised an eyebrow. "Too long?"

"Yes." A tired look pulled at the first commander's drawn features. "Ace looks exhausted. I don't think he foresaw how his challenge to you would go."

"I don't think anyone thought their challenge would be met with the offer of adoption," Jozu muttered.

A few snorts met his comment. Marco, on the other hand, remained impassive.

"You think we should let him go," Thatch said quietly.

At once, a huge din broke out as the other commanders, sans Izo, broke in to protest. When Marco simply moved to rub the bridge of his nose, the Yonko raised his hand. In moments, the chaos quietened.

"Why do you feel this way, son?"

The blonde shrugged. "It's..." He tried to find the right words. "There is a tiredness about him that worries me. With how things are going, I think it will only grow worse."

"You said he was exhausted, right?" Vista cut in. "Maybe he just needs a lot of rest to recover his energy."

"Yeah!" Haruta agreed. "Sure, he's been behaving oddly the past few days, but maybe he's just not in the right state of mind to be thinking right."

Namur. "Who knows? He might be considering to join our ranks seriously this time."

"Which is why –" the Phoenix said over their voices "- it is all the more important we consider this carefully, yoi." He frowned at them, and there must have been something in his expression they didn't like, for his siblings backed down without another word. "Even if he does join our family, if he does so in this state of mind, as you have described, Haruta, there is the chance he may regret his decision when he is all well again."

There was a moment of brief silence. The crackle of the flames permeated the tense air as each pirate contemplated the weight of his words, their downturned faces tinted the colour of tarnished gold under the dim light.

The Yonko was the first to speak. "You believe," he said slowly, "that we have pushed Ace to the extent he cannot cope well. With how stubborn the brat is, you feel he'd sooner kill himself off than allow himself the reprieve of being one of us."

A slight, hollowed-out feeling took root in the zoan's chest. He flipped his book close, as if trying to conceal the list of odd actions on the kid's part he had noted down over the weeks, and nodded. "Yes."

"Why now?"

"Ace has been accepting Thatch's offerings of food lately. I had thought he was becoming more receptive to the idea of staying, yoi." He lifted a hand to brush his hair back. "Today, he refused to accept anything from us. He had a…" he trailed off, unable to think of the right words to say. "He had a slight breakdown today when I came with lunch."

"He didn't appear to remember who I was when I approached him today," Izo said.

Thatch sighed, and looked pained when he spoke up, "No one has been stealing from the food storages for the past few days." He glanced at the first commander, his normally cheerful countenance, twisted into a frown. "And apparently he's now rejecting food we bring to him too."

"But aren't we giving up too early?" Haruta protested. "I just spoke with him last week and he hadn't tried to set me on fire like the many times before!"

"Haruta is right. These changes are only recent. If we turn him away now, he will never join us," Namur said.

"I don't _want_ to turn him away, yoi," Marco said tersely. He tried to calm the immediate defensives that ruffled his inner feathers. He leaned back to eye look of his sibling in the eye. "You know what awaits him in the New World. The kid is insanely strong for his age, I give him that. But there are much more stronger players out there, and they won't be as nice as we have been. And his crew? They are nowhere near their Captain's strength. They can't protect him the way we can.

"And we haven't even factored in their shaken faith in the Captain who's supposed to protect them. And Ace's state of mind. If he decides to keep his streak of going after the bigger players, what are the odds he'd always emerge victorious?" He threw a sharp look at Vista, who immediately snapped his mouth shut. "Yes, yoi, the ocean is vast. And yet, he bumped into us. Kaido's and that fat lady's men are all over the New World."

Thatch nodded slowly. "And I can bet my dinner the other Yonkos would have realised by now Ace's disappearance, what's with his loud demands to take on Oyaji. If he reappears with only his crew…"

Namur said in sick realisation, "They are bound to go after him to dig dirt on us."

The others looked disgusted at the thought.

"But then, why would you say we let him go?" Haruta burst out. "We'd be sending him to his death!"

Marco's fists clenched. "That's not what I-"

"That's enough," Whitebeard cut in, voice stern. His heavy gaze swept over his sons. His words were sombre. "If Marco has suggested it despite all his misgivings, then there must be a good reason for it." He turned to his oldest son in silent expectation.

The blond had to take a moment to calm himself. He was reminded of Ace's despaired features, the way the kid had looked trapped and helpless, as if he had lost sight of purpose. He remembered the distinct lack of fire which he himself had been attracted to from the beginning. Marco loved his family. His family was large and it required a man who was capable of hoarding a lot of love and compassion and understanding to reach the top ranks. How could he continue watching this boy, who was to be his brother, suffer and let it be for his own family's selfish wants? At the very least, this would protect them, he told himself. His heart ached for the suffering they were putting the kid through, regardless of their reasons. He didn't want to imagine how he'd feel if he already saw Ace as family.

"We have to let him go, yoi. It's his right," he said firmly. He ignored the way his brothers tensed. "Of course, I'm not saying we just leave him on some island." Here, his cerulean eyes gleamed. He turned to the head chef, who raised an eyebrow at the attention. "I was thinking…"

* * *

"What?"

Ace reeled back in what appeared to be shock. Or, dare he say it, hurt. For a moment, Thatch questioned if this was the right thing to do, but he steeled his resolve when the teen covered up his lapse with a fierce glower.

"Had enough of your entertainment, I see," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Going to kick me out the first chance you get."

The head chef restrained from frowning. "You do realise you are trying to kill our dad, right?" he said, his tone light. Then, in a more seriously, he added, "We don't want to hurt you anymore. You don't want to join us. We don't want you hurt. Someone has to give."

A dark red flush coloured the fire-user's cheeks at the comment. "H-hurt me?" He spluttered. His shoulders flickered with flames. "You're not hurting me!"

"Oh?" Oh, the chef was going to miss the kid if he did leave. He allowed a small smile to grace his features. "So you wanna join our family?"

The crimson spots deepened. " _No!_ "

Thatch laughed. "Thought so."

With deliberate steps, he moved forward to ruffled the teen's messy black locks. He kept his gaze locked with the kid throughout, watching as the other tensed at his approach. Grey eyes looked up at him in uncertainty as he slowly reached out to lay his palm, gently, on his head. Ah. So Marco was right. The kid stiffened even further, but made no move to set him ablaze. Most interestingly, he noted, was the way the kid seemed to lean into his touch, as if that small surface of connection was the only thing that kept him grounded.

"No worries, though," he said as he pulled away, filing the way the kid looked at his feet (in disappointment? Rage?) away. "We are in the more dangerous waters now, so I'll keep you company till you're out of the danger zone."

Ace's attention shot back up to him. A scatter of emotions flashed through his countenance, and the kid seemed to settle on disbelief and…annoyance? "What?" he demanded. "Wha-" He lifted his arms then, as if realising the futility of it. "I don't even know what to say anymore. You're kicking me out, and now you're telling me you're _escorting_ me out?"

Thatch looked thoughtful. "Huh. Now that you say it like that, I _am_ escorting you out."

Ace looked enraged. "I am not weak!"

"Of course you're not. You're a Captain who made it into the New World." The fire-user appeared to simmer down when he realised the commander was being sincere. "But," the chef went on, his dark eyes focused on the teen's, "to be fair, all we've seen of you these past 78 days were of you getting soundly thrown about by Oyaji. I hope you'd excuse us for worrying."

"S-shut up!" Ace's handsome features twisted into a cold, cold glare. "Not that I believe you, but I don't care what you feel. You want me out? Fine. You can just leave me at the nearest island and I'd figure things out from there. I don't _need_ you – any of you! – holding my hand like a baby."

The chef shook his head. "I can't do that, Ace. Whatever you feel about it, I have my orders. And that is to keep you safe till you're in safer waters." He jerked his chin in the direction of the crowd of men at the other side of the ship. "They are preparing our ship as we speak." He raised a hand when the kid opened his mouth into a would-be snarl, he was sure. "It's a pretty small ship, but it's fast. So it'll just be the two of us. You don't have to worry about anyone else."

Perhaps the fire-user was finally realising that he had no choice but to go along with it, or perhaps he finally saw the respire he must have desired all this while, but the kid's body slumped. He directed his gaze to the floor, his lips pursed. His eyes were covered from the sun's glare by the brim of his hat, casting his features into shadow. Not for the first time, Thatch felt another tendril of pity for the kid. Ace…would have been a great addition to the crew. A brother who would have been their youngest for them to freely dote on and care for.

Goodness knows everyone on board were already so old, he thought wryly.

"Fine," Ace finally spat. "Do whatever you want. It's not like my opinion matters anyway." He turned to stomp away.

"I'll wait for you near the figurehead in two hours," Thatch called after him.

He inwardly sighed when the fire-user left his sight. It had only been 78 days, but he so wished the kid had decided to stay.

* * *

That evening, both fire-user and fourth commander left.

Due to Captain's orders, most of the crew had stayed clear of the deck, with only a select few of the commanders staying put to bid farewell to the teen. For Ace's part, he had refused to look at them, and had moved directly towards the small ship, his meagre belongings slung across his back.

"Take care of yourself, son," Whitebeard had said as he walked past.

No one had missed the way the teen's steps faltered, or how the he wouldn't look any of them in the eye. In the end, he continued on and disappeared into the other sea vessel, his back a little hunched.

It sank in, then, that Portgas D. Ace left their ship after a short 78 days.

* * *

It was also on the 78th day, three hours after their departure and minutes before the hour turned midnight, that the ship both pirates were on disappeared.

* * *

 **Rather anticlimactic, huh? Do leave a review. :)**


	2. 79 days

**Hey everyone!**

 **Thanks for the reviews, follows, and favourites. I'm glad this fic took off to a great start. I'm quite sure you guys know what's in store, seeing as it's written quite clearly on the story summary.**

 **Whether or not the following is predictable…well, you can let me know. I've just been thinking of writing certain scenes out (not all of them are here; very few, in fact) and I strung them together into** _ **Perception**_ **.**

 **For one of you who asked, no, I don't have an Ao3 account. Should I be branching out into that site, though? I'm not quite sure myself.**

 **Do enjoy Chapter 2 of** _ **Perception**_ **.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece or any of its characters.**

* * *

 **Chapter 2: 79 Days**

Ace came to with a groan. His head pounded, and there was a steady, throbbing ache across his entire upper body. He couldn't feel his legs, but his mind was too far gone at the moment for him to even think to worry about that. His heartbeat, loud and sluggish, seemed to echo in his ears, a faint ringing that went higher in pitch when he unconsciously moved.

"..ce?"

The pirate struggled to open his eyes. That was bad…right? Somehow, he couldn't think of why.

"Ace."

He let out another quiet groan when there was another sharp stab in his head. Black and greyish shapes blurred in his vision as his head rolled forward, and he thought he saw a somewhat huge white figure in front of him. The thing seemed to move, and foreignness of the shape sent an uneasiness clenching in his gut. What the hell was going on?

" _Ace!_ "

"-wha..?"

His vision finally focused. "Tha-tch..?" he slurred.

The man in front of him looked relieved. "Took you long enough," he said, though the light undertones didn't match his terse features.

Ace blinked slowly. He dragged his head up (why was it so heavy?) to peer at the fellow pirate. "Wha..?" he repeated, his brain apparently unable to process anything beyond 'it hurt' and 'it hurt'. He moved to rub at his eyes, only to find he wasn't able to. A vice-like grip wrapped around his heart, and he could have sworn the stupid organ began to race, when his gaze followed the length of his arm to meet a steel cuff clamped around his wrist. Attached to it was a long, thick metal chain that dragged from the ceiling. He knew he didn't have to turn to know his left arm was bound just as tightly.

For a moment – for a short, heart-stopping moment – he thought the Whitebeard pirates had betrayed him (though how that was possible, he didn't know. They were enemies, but his mind was quick to label them _traitors_ ), for a rush of memories flooded him then. Leaving on the 'small' ship (he had considered lighting it up, the bastards. _His_ ship had been smaller than this; they must have thought his tiny!), the fourth commander by his side. How only a few had cared to see him off despite their very loud declarations that they cared about him. How the journey away from what he had known for almost 79 days had gone in utter silence. According to Thatch, he had sulked.

But, then, he also remembered a faint shout just before the ship shook violently. Recalled the commander telling him to stay put as he rushed out onto the deck. The memories seemed to jumble up then, and he struggled to fill in the blanks before his mind came to a complete blank. Though, a voice in his head darkly supplied, it might have been an elaborate ploy by the Whitebeards to punish him for putting them through his assassination attempts for almost 79 days. Maybe simply beating him up or executing him wasn't enough.

The thought, however, drained from him the moment he fully locked eyes with Thatch.

To put it simply, the man looked terrible. His pompadour hairstyle had fallen to way past his shoulders (and weren't you curious how he'd look like then?), a messy tangle of brown locks that didn't match the chef's penchant for order and cleanliness. His white uniform was streaked with dust and what appeared to be black markings (from soot, perhaps, but the idea was ridiculous). Parts of the fabric were torn in places, revealing bloodied skin. Worst, though, was the large gash on the side of his head. It was, Ace guessed, about five to six inches long and almost an inch wide. Some of the horror must have shown on his face for the older pirate chuckled.

"It's not that bad," he said soothingly. A warm smile crinkled at the corners of his lips, which the fire-user absently noted was cracked and bleeding. "They just got a nasty hit in and I went down like a lightbulb."

The teen scowled. "Who says I care?" Ace shifted and winced, finally realising why his legs felt numb. The chains that shackled his arms had enough give that his body rested most of his weight on his lower body, and with the way he must have been slumped over…And not to mention the tight clamp of metal against his ankles too.

"Yeah, that's gonna hurt," Thatch commented.

The fire-user ignored him and shifted to allow for better blood blow. He looked back up, his face drawn. "You're tied up," he said instead. Looking closely, the teen realised the other man wasn't bound the way he was. Thatch was seated, cross-legged, with his back against the wall. Thick – no, thicker by perhaps three inches – manacles cuffed his arms directly to the wall. Unlike Ace's, the man couldn't move the slightest bit, with the exception of his legs, which he suspected were cuffed as well, if the peek of metal from beneath the man's pants were any indication.

"Well," the commander was saying. "What can you do? I woke up to this a few hours before you did." His gaze sharpened. "How are you feeling?"

Ace scowled and attempted to bristle at the question, though really his legs were beginning to hurt now and grimacing in pain was not an option. "Now's not the time for casual talk, Thatch. What the hell happened?"

The pirate shrugged, but his eyes remained cautious. "I can honestly tell you I don't know. We were ambushed, we were taken out, and next thing I knew, we were here." He shook his head when the younger opened his mouth to speak. "Let me brief you first, Ace," he said quietly. His voice fell to a hushed whisper and, as if the very air understood the severity of the situation, the darkness of the room seemed to press in on the two occupants, oppressing and heavy. "I woke up about what I believe to be two to three hours ago. We are in a cell, about three metres by five. Your back is facing the door, which occupies the entire length of the wall. They are floor-to-ceiling steel poles, kairoseki, if I had to guess. No one has been by to see us. We don't know yet who they are after – you, me, or my family."

As the man rattled off, Ace couldn't help but feel surprised. It was practical, he knew, for both pirates to be fully aware of their circumstances to best deal with it. Piracy was one of the most dangerous lifestyles, and in a world where everyone, including pirates, were enemies, learning how to survive was a priority. That Thatch told him the situation without question, as if it was expected, sparked in the fire-user a warmth he longed to hold on to, especially in this dank, cold place.

"Hey," Thatch interrupted his thoughts. His dark eyes softened when the younger pirate met his gaze. "It'll be alright."

Ace just shrugged. "We're trapped in a cell with no idea who caught us, and for what reason." He laughed tiredly. "Of course it'll be alright."

The answering response was firm. "They'll come for us, you know."

"You," the teen corrected. "They'll come for _you_."

"My family will come for the both of us," Thatch insisted. "Whether you like it or not, we'll never be enemies, Ace. Our crews will forever be on neutral ground, even if you refuse to accept us as allies."

Ace frowned. "Allies? You never offered to be allies with me."

"Not yet. I was going to, on behalf of Oyaji, but this -" he jerked his chin at their general surroundings "- kind of ruined my plans."

The freckled pirate stared at the offending brunette with wide eyes, feeling quite sure he should be feeling insulted. In its place, there was this odd warm ache in his chest that the Whitebeards didn't completely want to cut him off, but that wasn't right either. They were his enemies. He didn't care about them. (He didn't, he really, really didn't.)

"And what?" he asked instead, trying hard to inject venom into his words. "You thought I'd go along with it just because you asked? How arrogant of you."

He was met with a wry smile. "I never said I'd ask only once."

Suddenly, Ace was angry. "Shut up," he demanded. "You didn't want m-"

Soft footfalls interrupted him mid-word, and Ace snapped his mouth shut. He turned wide eyes to the Whitebeard commander, who now appeared disconcertingly relaxed, though his gaze remained trained on the cell entrance. He must have felt Ace's attention on him, for he flicked the younger an assuring look before looking away.

The jingle of keys and then, a coarse, grating voice: "Finally."

* * *

Thatch tensed when he sensed a quickly approaching presence. The man, whoever he was, had a powerful aura, not unlike one of his fellow commanders. He shot a glance at kid, unable to stem the worry the coiled in his gut. He tried to look reassuring, but judging from the guarded look that clouded those grey eyes he sorts of liked, he didn't think he did very well.

His mind rushed through a list of possible suspects. His family hadn't engaged into any significant battles recently. But then, he knew how hard people could hold on to grudges. Whoever their kidnappers were, they weren't happy. Just his luck to run into someone strong enough to up his game, really.

Several damp locks of brown hair plastered itself to his skin and he attempted to blow them out of the way. It was at this moment that a man with startlingly light blue hair came into view. Thatch's gaze sharpened. _Approximately seven and a half feet tall. Lanky, but appears muscular. Tight formal tux with black and grey stripes. Arms more toned than legs; probably choice of weapon when in arm-to-arm combat. Walks lightly on his feet, probably agile and swift. Bulky object in left front pocket. Dark sunglasses, probably an arrogant bastard._

He watched as the man languidly pulled out a key from his breast pocket and then insert it into the keyhole. A twist, and then long fingers dragged the steel poles to slide to the left, leaving a large enough gap that allowed him through.

An ugly, scratchy voice spoke: "Finally."

Thatch felt his insides bristle. "How kind of you," he forced through gritted teeth. "To finally greet us when we've been here hours."

The blue-haired man raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You have been awake that long?" A genuine look of discontent appeared on his somewhat handsome (if the pirate really had to admit it) features. "My apologies. I must speak with my subordinates about this lapse. We could have started ages ago."

The Whitebeard had a sinking feeling. _Over-formality. Real dissatisfaction over something trivial._ He was _that kind_ of guy.

The commander had met all sorts of people in his line of work. Heck, he had already seen a lot before he had accepted his father's name. And this guy, this type of person, while not common, was not rare either. He came by them every now and then. And he absolutely _loathed_ them.

"And who might you be, exactly?"

A small smile graced the man's lips and he bowed just slightly. His hair fell in curled waves and just brushed the tips of his right shoulder. His left sported an undercut, so trimly shaved it almost looked like art. "I go by the name of Kai," he answered primly. He paused for a while, and looked searchingly at the brunette. A look of disappointment flashed through his features. "I suppose from your lack of reaction that you do not recognise me, Fourth Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates. But then," he said as he stepped directly into the chef's line of sight, "your father often stations you on the Moby Dick. I admit I was fairly surprised he sent you, of all people, on some trivial errand I have yet to understand." He glanced at the surprisingly quiet fire-user, his gaze piercing.

The uneasiness in Thatch's gut twisted at the same time that relief rushed through him. Whatever the heck the man – Kai – was saying, Ace was likely just collateral damage. If he tried hard enough, he was sure he could steer his attention away. That is, if he wasn't dealing with a lunatic in a formal suit.

"Why did you take us?" he asked, before the blue-haired guy could even think of getting anyway near Ace.

Kai returned his attention to him. "You really don't remember," he said, almost sadly. "Call it cliché, Commander, or whatever you will. But I'm here to exact what most people attempt to do at least once in their lifetimes: revenge." He moved away and began to prowl around the cell. Unfortunately, with one tense fire-user taking centre-stage, that meant the kidnapper circled around _him_.

The commander narrowed his eyes. "Revenge for what?"

Blue eyes, as startlingly bright as its owner's hair, met his. "For your rejection, of course." Before Thatch could latch onto that statement and demand for a deeper explanation, Kai moved to what appeared to be a circular instrument he had earlier noticed, but disregarded, at the corner of the room. He raised a hand and turned the wooden device.

Neither pirate – Ace or the brunette – needn't worry about wondering what man was doing for long. Their unspoken question was answered when the chains linked Ace's arms began to lift into the ceiling, dragging Ace along with it. For his part, the teen didn't struggle, only glared helplessly, as he was finally left dangling in the air, his knees barely brushing the floor, his arms pulled taut. Thatch darted a quick look at the kid's wrists, worried that kid's weight would become too straining if the cuffs were too tight.

"Whatever it is you're doing, or for whatever reason," he said carefully, "the kid has nothing to do with it. Let him go."

He felt a pair of grey eyes rest heavy on him, but he refused to look. Best if he kept the guy's attention on him.

After the pregnant pause, Kai gave the device one more nudge before moving to stand between Thatch and Ace. He eyed them both, expression unreadable. "I would suppose an explanation is in order," he mused. "After all that I will put you both through."

The commander tensed.

"My name is Kai," the man said again. "I've sailed the Grand Line for over a decade now. As a pirate, of course." He paused, as if contemplating how to answer. "It's been years now, so I won't get into it-"

"Thank small mercies," Ace interrupted. His boyish features sported a thoroughly bored look that Marco would have been proud of. Thatch, however, threw him a warning look, which the teen promptly ignored. The stupid brat went on, "Frankly, nobody cares."

Kai seemed not to breathe. A sort of tension built in the air as grey eyes locked on blue orbs, both narrowed into sharp slits. It did not last long.

The kidnapper chuckled, as if amused. "I would suppose you are right, Fire Fist," he agreed. "Even so, I must tell you, even if a little bit. My vengeance wouldn't be right without it." A look not unlike resigned discontentment crossed his features. It was if an unpleasant thought entered his mind. "I came across your family over six years ago, Commander. You clearly don't remember, but till today I remember clearly how I had asked of your father to be put under his protection, under his wing. I had asked of him to allow me to join his family, who are known to take in anybody in need of help. In need of a home. And he turned me down."

He stared at his open palm. "He turned me down," he repeated, "and turned me away. My crew wanted to leave me then. They thought it was my fault. Before we could part, we were attacked by other rival pirates. We were not a very strong crew, you see. We thought ourselves ready for the New World, but we were not. And we paid for it dearly. Only I, along with my cabin boy, survived." He looked proud then. "He helped seize you, in fact. I'll be sure to have him make his formal acquaintance with you both soon."

Thatch's heart tightened at the mention of his crew. Ah. Loss. That makes everyone go crazy. He said quietly, "You blame us. You feel your crew – and yourself – could have been protected, if only my Captain took you in."

Kai inclined his head at the Whitebeard pirate. "I lost everything I could have hoped for. Your father-"

"-didn't want you. So now you're blaming it all on him," Ace finished loudly. He glared at the offending pirate. "Boo-hoo," he sneered. "Such tragedy. Should we cry for you now?"

" _Ace_ ," Thatch hissed.

The idiot snapped back, "Shut it, Thatch." He turned and fixed the man with a heated glower. Under the dimness of the cell, a sort of fire seemed to light up the kid's suddenly dark eyes. His lips parted in a low snarl: "You have us now. You can spare us your sob story, and get _on_ with it. Either way you aren't letting us go, so if you're waiting for him to cry out for your forgiveness, you have another thing coming. So, again, _get the fuck on with it_."

"And how would you know he wouldn't?" Kai said slowly.

A smirk. "I've been stuck with him for 79 days now. If I know anything about the Whitebeards, they aren't about to fall on their knees and beg."

Kai hummed under his breath. He eyed the fire-user, and began to circle around him again. "You are…not one of them," he said in apparent realisation. He slid the tip of his index finger against the kid's back, pressing against hardened skin from his left to right shoulder. The teen shuddered. "You don't have their mark. I wonder why."

A saddened look entered the man's eyes. A second later and he was standing before the fire-user, the latter's chin gripped lightly in his hand. In a soft voice, he asked, "Did they reject you too?"

Ace spluttered. "W-what? No!" He tried to drag himself away from the close scrutiny.

"It is alright to admit it. They did not want me either."

Dark splotches of red dusted the kid's cheeks. "I don't care! I don't _want_ to be part of their stupid crew!"

"Does thinking that truly make you feel better?" Kai asked. From the serious tone of his voice, Thatch could tell the man was genuinely curious. And apparently, so could the loud teenager. If it weren't for the circumstances, the commander would have laughed at the kid's childish indignance, or the way that blush seemed to darken when Kai yet again insisted he was in denial.

"I don't- They didn't _reject_ me! They grew sick of me and didn't want me anymore! That's the fucking dif-" Ace's mouth shut with a snap, as if then truly aware of what he had said. He looked at Thatch with wide eyes and winced when the commander met his gaze straight on.

 _Huh. So I had a bigger chance than I thought I did_ , he thought distractedly.

Kai sighed. "What a shame. We are in the same boat, but I cannot help you," he said to Ace. "I have discovered a great deal about the Whitebeards over the years. One of them is how they cannot stand to have those close to them hurt." His hand snuck into his pocket with the bulky object. "Unlike me, this Commander here cares for you. At least, for my plan to work, he has to."

Part of the object he took out slithered to the floor with a _snap_. Thatch felt himself pale in dread. _Shit. No_. "Don't," he said, not completely conscious that he was speaking. "Don't do it! He has nothing to do with this!"

Kai ignored his interruption. "But, I suppose we could test the theory and work from there." He cupped Ace's jawline ( _with his filthy, filthy hands_ , the commander's inner voice raged) and rubbed at a spot. "Collateral damage. They happen, after all," he said absently.

"Take it out on me!"

The grip on the whip tightened.

" _I'm_ the Whitebeard pirate! Not him!"

Ace simply looked resigned when then the man walked to stand behind him.

" _Kai_!"

* * *

"Could you repeat that, yoi?"

Haruta looked grave. "We lost track of the Mini Moby at approximately 2348 hours yesterday. My navigation team tried to establish contact when Thatch missed the first hour of morning report, but no one picked up. We just received word from one of my division members stationed on Tokei Island – that's the island they were closest to – that there was an unmarked ship heading in their direction shortly before their disappearance."

Marco narrowed his eyes. "Gather the commanders and a representative from navigations. We meet with Oyaji in ten minutes."

The twelfth commander nodded and ran off. For his part, Marco had to take a moment to calm the building anger that thrummed in his Phoenix. The zoan part of him nipped at his consciousness, quietly demanding he do something immediate to neutralise the threat to that which belonged to him. He breathed heavily.

He had to warn Oyaji.

* * *

A heavy, pressuring weight rested on the present commanders. The rest of the crew, as ordered by the first commander, were absent, each filed away from the deck as a tense silence hung in the air. The main navigator, Hoshi, couldn't help a fidget now and then, though his own sharp features were just as angry.

"Could there have been a technical issue?" Rakuyo asked.

Marco flicked his gaze to Hoshi. That had been one of his first thoughts. The Mini Moby Thatch and Ace had taken were one of their newer and more advanced sea vessels. It wasn't huge, and could maybe house, at any one time, twenty people at most. If Oyaji was on board? Cut that down to seventeen.

He hadn't wanted them to use that ship. The vessel had been created by the shipwrights at Water Seven with the hopes that it could be steered and kept run by only one person. He remembered sitting through an entire crash course on what made a ship run, and how it ran. Even then, he didn't fully understand how this ship worked, simply that it required very little manual labour to keep it going. He hadn't wanted one for his family, but…

" _You…fell asleep?"_

 _Members of the second division laughed. One particularly loud one waved – or attempted to – his concerns away. "It's nothing to worry about, Commander!" he insisted. "All of us bear Oyaji's mark. And the ship too! No fool would be brave enough to challenge us, even when we're as high as kites!"_

 _Marco pinched the bridge of his nose. "_ All _of you passed out from drinking, yoi. If anyone came by your ship, or if a storm came..." He took a heavy breath. "Could you please be more careful?"_

 _Another bout of laughter. "You worry too much, Commander!"_

 _A glare._

" _R-right. We'll be more careful next time. Promise!"_

…but his family was arrogant. They have grown used to holding one of the strongest powers on the ocean. Though he himself couldn't understand it, he knew many of his brothers forgot that their greatest strength was their Captain, and that many of them…were weak in power. He was glad they bore their mark with pride. Yet many have yet to realise that there was only one purpose behind that symbol: it was to protect. Whitebeard wasn't a proud man, after all. He didn't care for the fame, especially not enough to have his name plastered around the world.

 _Our arrogance could well be our undoing one day_ , he thought. And it might just start with this darn ship he had never liked.

The only reason he had allowed it – heck, suggested it – was Ace. Because the brat couldn't stand the crowds and he still held to a glimmer of hope Thatch would bring him back.

"It is possible," Hoshi answered. "But that wouldn't explain why Thatch isn't picking up the den den mushi."

"Maybe Ace lit it on – the _den den mushi_ , not the ship! – on fire," Vista hazarded a guess.

"Not that that isn't far-fetch, but we have two back-up snails on that ship," Namur countered. "Have we tried calling them too?"

"Of course we have," the navigator snapped, eyes narrowed dangerously at the implied slight. He sighed when the fishman raised his hands in apology. "We tried contacting them with every way we know possible. We couldn't reach them."

The Yonko frowned at the implications of his words. "Was there anything odd in Thatch's report last night?"

Marco stepped in. "No, yoi. The only highlight of the report stated that Ace was sulking and was refusing to speak with him. An outcome he had anticipated."

Whitebeard raised an eyebrow at the description, but nodded. The blonde commander knew, had the situation been different, his father would have found the idea of Fire Fist sulking amusing.

"We have no leads then," Vista said.

"Actually, we might just do," Haruta interjected. He flipped through the notes in his hand. "Our brothers at Tokei Island reported seeing a ship heading in Thatch's direction about an hour out from where they are approximated to have disappeared. Fairly small ship, can host at most ten to twelve people at the max, and sailed at about three quarters of Mini Moby's speed. We wouldn't think much of it, except the ship was unmarked."

And that was the crucial difference, the Phoenix thought as he waited for his family to process the information. In this part of the Grand Line, only fishermen went out in unmarked sea vessels. Leaving their boats unmarked signified they were not an enemy to Marines, and posed no threat to pirates. The key detail, though, was the size of the ship. No fisherman in his or her right mind would get a ship that small. As far as he knew, the waters off Tokei Island were surrounded by large sea kings. A vessel that size couldn't hope to trap one without considerably damaging its structures – or worse, its keel.

However…

"Maybe," Namur mused, "it wasn't a resident of the island."

Haruta smirked. "That's right. Our informants investigated this morning –" at their questioning looks, he explained, "They had a bad feeling about the ship. Anyway, from their poking around, they discovered no one, except this fisherman who had just left an hour before they asked and returned before they were done, on the island were away."

"That means," Marco added, not wanting to prolong the delay any longer, "we have ourselves a lead, yoi. Even if that ship's occupants have nothing to do with our brother's disappearance, there is a chance they might have witnessed something crucial." He turned to his Captain and awaited instructions.

The Yonko didn't disappoint. "Commanders, inform your divisions of the situation. Ensure everyone is up to date and understands we may be in for a battle. Haruta, have your siblings who are not home to keep a careful watch out for Thatch and Ace. Hoshi, son, get navigations to move towards the position the Mini Moby was thought to disappear-"

The blonde interrupted, "Already done, Oyaji. Our ship is heading there as we speak."

An approving glint twinkled in his father's eyes and Marco smiled lightly in reply. "Good. The rest of you, provide hourly reports, and keep attempting to reach Thatch. The best we can hope for is that brother of yours playing another prank of his."

"Got it, Oyaji!"

The heavy feeling in the blonde commander's chest lightened. This wasn't the first time one of theirs had been taken – or, well, presumably taken. But this was _Thatch_. Thatch, who hardly leaves the Moby Dick, and whose experience in combat for the past decade been largely confined to friendly spars and attacks on their home.

And Ace, the twitchy, teenage boy he still hoped would join their ranks. He didn't care for the teen like he would a brother, but he had personally watched over the kid for almost 79 days. He couldn't help but notice the wounds the fire-user licked in private, the stark despair in his eyes. They – his family – could heal him the way they healed Marco. He knew they could if only they were given a chance. The thought that Ace would likely go on suffering in silence once he left their umbrella of protection left a bad taste in his mouth.

But it would be alright now. His family were on the move to get them back.

It was time to remind the world why no one touched their own.

* * *

Ace panted heavily. The pounding in his head had worsened to feel like repeatedly sharp and consecutive stabs at his consciousness, and if he could, he would have slammed his skull into the nearest wall to knock himself out. He could feel the blood congealing on his back, the wetness of it pooling at his knees. Seriously, Jinbei, Whitebeard, and now this? He couldn't catch a break.

Cold sweat fell into his eyes. "That-" He had to swallow the bile in his throat. "That all you've got?" he asked mockingly when Kai frowned at him.

The blue-haired pirate dropped the whip (who used a _whip_ anymore anyway?). His fist shot forward and slammed into the teen's stomach, forcing a gasp out of him. Before he could take a breath, there was a hand around his throat. It squeezed, _hard_ , and he felt his eyes roll back for a second.

"You are…" Kai seemed to work to find the right word. "Stubborn."

Ace couldn't help but try to grin. He must look creepy, if the expression on Thatch's face was any indication. Stubborn? Heck yeah he was.

"Let him go," Thatch was saying for the umpteenth time the past hour (or was it hours? He loses track of time so easily now). His voice was firm and strong. Unbendable. Not quite unyielding like Marco's, Ace noticed, but he could see how this usually jovial man became a Commander. Part of him almost reflexively demanded he obey, despite the words not being directed at him.

Kai ignored the chef, though he did let the teen go. The freckled pirate heaved in deep, gasping breaths. "You are not reacting the way I need you to, Fire Fist," he scolded.

The fire-user snorted. "I just recently graduated from an almost 79-day crash course on persistence and its ensuing failure. Guess I learnt something worthwhile there, huh?" He pointedly ignored the choke from the other side of the cell.

The man before him regarded him for a minute. "I see. Even so, I need Commander Thatch to feel extreme guilt. For that, you-"

"No, you don't," Ace interrupted. "You want him to feel what you think they made you feel. You want him alive to feel this aching pain that never left you, and you want him to return to his crew like that. So they'd suffer by association." A disdainful smile revealed his bloody teeth. "Not sorry to burst your fucking bubble, _Kai_ ," – he dragged out the word – "but if I lived like you had, I'd have offed myself a long time ago. They don't care about you. Deal with it, you fucking wimp."

The punishment was instantaneous. He caught a flash of rage and then he was being pummelled by fists and- and kicks to his abdomen and his upper torso. Pain swept through his body, sharp and swift, and he was sure he had let slip a moan once or twice. He could hear someone shouting above the assault, but heck if the person could shut up for a minute and not attack his ears too.

When Kai finally stopped, Ace's head was ringing (not that it wasn't already before, he thought bitterly) and his body was slumped heavily, his weight fully relying on the chains that bound him to keep him up.

He chuckled breathily. "F-feel better?"

The kidnapper must have missed the sarcasm behind his words, for his answer was serious. "No," he said. "I do not."

Ace spat out a glob of blood. "Too bad then."

Kai bent down to pick up his early weapon.

Guess it was Round two then.

(He wondered if it was terrible that he was almost looking forward to it.)

* * *

If Thatch had been free, the first thing he'd have done is beat the blue-haired guy within an inch of his life (he'd leave the spares for his family) and then launch into a very long tirade on how absolutely crazy and insane Ace was.

His heart had ached the entire time the kid was being tortured, for every lash on his back, for every hit he had to bear because of some stupid six-year-old grudge that _had nothing to do with him_. He didn't know what he had expected, but it sure wasn't how loudmouthed the kid became. The more he was hit (and the more Thatch protested), the more he hit back at Kai with goading challenges and insults. For Whitebeard's sake, was he _trying_ to get killed?

Thatch was, by no means, advocating that Ace give up, but there was a time to fight, and this wasn't one of them.

He could only count his lucky stars Kai had finally grown weary of whacking the stupid idiot and decided to leave.

"Are you crazy?" he hissed once he was sure their resident lunatic was out of earshot.

Ace raised his head tiredly. His voice was somewhat slurred. "W-what?"

The commander inwardly cursed. He gave the kid another onceover, not liking the quickly purpling bruises on his lean (or thin?) frame. "How are you feeling?"

The teen gave an almost quiet snort. "Fantastic," he answered. His body then shook in silent laughter, only to freeze when one of his many injuries must have snapped to attention.

"It's not funny," Thatch snapped. "What were you thinking, challenging him like that? He could have decided to kill you."

From the faint twitch on Ace's lips, he could only assume the kid was still amused. "He wouldn't have. He needed me in his, uh, grand plan."

Thatch shook his head. "You have nothing to do with this, Ace. He wanted _me_ to feel guilty. Don't give him another reason to hit you harder!"

"Sure. Not like you seemed all that guilty anyway," the kid muttered under his breath.

The Whitebeard was sure he wasn't meant to hear it, but he did. The ensuing shock slammed into his gut, sending him reeling at the idea that- that he didn't- "What?" he choked out, his eyes wide. "You think I don't feel guilty?"

For a moment, the fire-user seemed surprised at the outburst until realisation caught up with him a second later. Instead of the defensiveness most would have expected, the kid looked resigned. "Forget it."

Thatch balked at the idea. "No! How can you say that? You think I enjoyed watching him treat you like a piñata? Because of my family? The whole time I was trying to get him to stop!"

"Sure." A sliver of derision entered Ace's voice. "That sure took lots of effort."

"I couldn't do anything else!"

"J-just forget it, Thatch."

"No! I'm not going to!" the chef snapped back. He glared at the freckled pirate. "I care about you, Ace. I care for you as much as I would any other good person on the street, only so much more because you're more than a stranger to me now. Hell, I've known you for 79 days now. I don't care what you think or feel about it, but you can't change it." Remembering the kid's own words, he added, " _Deal with it_."

* * *

Ace opened his eyes when it became clear Thatch had fallen asleep. He suppressed a sigh. He wanted to shift, to ease the ache in his wrists but he knew the futility of trying. He glanced at his knees. If only they could rest on the ground. He wasn't by any means heavy, but he felt his arms might just snap if the weight didn't let up soon.

It didn't help that his body _ached_. He was exhausted, starved and all he wanted was to lie in his bed and sleep this all off. He couldn't sleep even now; he'd wake up every time his head rolled from his perch on one of his shoulders.

His body should hate him, he thought absent-mindedly. It had been 79 days since he was robbed of his freedom, after all. Goodness knows he hadn't done it any favours during this time.

He eyed the unconscious commander. Unable to help himself, Ace couldn't stop remembering the chef's earlier words. He wondered if the man was right. Maybe he _was_ crazy. How else could he explain the strange light-hearted lift in his chest whenever Thatch yelled at him? Even through the hurt and the pain, that odd feeling never failed to stand out amidst the overwhelming 'sensations' he was being put through.

Ace rested his chin against his chest. Weariness warred against the climbing feelings of upset.

 _How do you know if you're crazy?_

* * *

 **That's all for this chapter!**

 **I realise the introduction of an OC wasn't that great, but it was needed to keep the story going. I contemplated using Teach as the main antagonist, though I quickly scrapped the idea since this should follow the canon timeline. Or I didn't really stop to think how Teach's earlier betrayal could be explained.**

 **Oh well. Do leave a review and let me know what you think! :)**


	3. 84 - 93 days

**Hi all!**

 **This took forever to write. I am so sorry for the wait. It has been ages since I last wrote, so I truly hope this chapter does justice to the previous two. On another brighter note (I think), the year is about to end! I wish all of you a great soon-to-be end of 2018!**

* * *

 **Chapter 3: 84 – 93 Days**

 **84 Days**

The back of rough knuckles pushed at his cheek and he allowed his head to be pushed from its perch on his shoulder. His chin drooped heavily and he tried hard to ignore the aching stretch at the back of his neck. Uneven, gasping breaths escaped his chapped lips. _One breath. Two. Take one more._

If he tried hard enough, Ace thought the cell shone dully, as if he were looking through smears on a wet, stained glass wall.

His memory was hazy at best but he thought he remembered how drawn Thatch's features had grown over the past…the past few days. How the Whitebeard pirate tried to speak to him in low tones, attempted to soothe him to sleep when his eyes grew wet with tears. The memory of that made his heart prickle with something uneasy. He didn't like the way the chef looked so upset.

There were muffled sounds around him, but the fire-user had long since tuned the words out. It didn't matter, in the end, anyway. He had lost the ability to understand the words – any words – a long time ago. A part of him wished he hadn't, for the increasingly heated arguments between Thatch and the villain guy were entertaining in the face of being treated like a pinata. It distracted him from all the places it _hurt_.

If he was honest with himself- and truly, what was the harm in being truthful to himself now, right? He was exhausted, he was in pain, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in the treehouse to sleep. His heart felt this aching desperation for him to go home. To start all over again. He wanted to see Luffy, but he also wanted to see Sabo too.

Another shallow breath. Something warm touched the top of his scalp. What felt like fingers dug into his hair and his head was lifted roughly. His vision swam, as something blue filled his sight.

If he was truly honest, Ace would admit as his head was shoved forward that he had chosen this path of hurt and torture. Distant _clicks_ echoed in his head. He had chosen to bring his faithful crew to issue a challenge to the strongest man in the world. A bright flare of searing heat shot through his shoulder. He grunted. He made the decision to fight Whitebeard again and again. A gasp left his lips as something cold slammed into his side. He chose this. He had chosen to suffer.

It was only right he suffered the consequences for it.

Something cotton-y filled his mouth and for a moment Ace couldn't breathe at all. Fingers pressed into his mouth to shove it deeper and he was faintly aware of a hand covering his nose. The fluttering of panic began to build in his chest, but then black overcame his vision and it all went still.

* * *

Thatch had to breathe in calm, steadying breaths as he forced himself to watch the kid lying, defenceless, beneath the _son of a bitch_. The scum forced some sort of black material into Ace's parted lips and had proceeded to slap a hand over the kid's mouth, as if everything he had done before had not been enough. He didn't know which was worse, that the kid had been knocked out in less than 5 seconds flat, or that he hadn't even struggled after being released from his chains.

"There we go," Kai almost crooned as he pulled the black-whatever-it-was from the teen's mouth. He flicked it to the side, away from Thatch, and gently brushed his hand through the kid's hair. "Such beautiful hair. We should really clean it while we can, hmmm?"

A hot pulse of anger reverberated through the chef. "What did you put in his mouth?" he demanded, voice tight and controlled.

Kai glanced at him. He seemed to take a moment to consider his answer, if he should at all. "My people call it the Black Pearl. Its feels as soft as cotton, really, but it is made from purifying molten lava through intense heat and pressure. The Black Pearl is meant for healing and is used to knock people unconscious without truly hurting them," he said finally. He must have noticed the pirate's blank stare, for he continued, "You are right, Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates. I would not be able to achieve my goal if he dies so easily here. I do not believe in harming him if he is to be treated, so for now I will treat him as I would any of my patients."

Thatch narrowed his eyes. "You are a doctor," he stated flatly.

The blue-haired man hummed. "I didn't use to be. But I had to learn when that was all that kept from my cabin boy and myself from getting mauled to death by everyone else." He ran his hand along the teen's shoulders, briefly stopping at the scarred tattoo on his arm.

"He won't ever forgive you for that," Thatch muttered as another heat of anger raged through him again at the sight. Quiet confessions and watery eyes filled his mind's eye.

"What?"

The chef scowled. "Nothing. Now do as you promised and make him better." His voice turned darker, threatening. "If he comes back with even a hair out of place, I will _kill_ you. And I will hunt you and everything you have down, and _I will drown you_."

Kai's blue eyes stared him down, empty and dull, as if he hadn't understood how real and how much he wanted to carry out his threat. A slow smirk crept along his lips, but he did scoop the fire-user into his arms before making his way out of the cell.

Thatch hated that he had to rely on the man, but he had little option. Ace had begun to lose parts of himself over the past week. 84 days of battering himself hadn't helped and seeing how his body started to fail him had worried the chef so much he almost wanted to retch.

He still recalled how Ace had forgotten how long they had been there, when he had called Thatch a "Luf-fy"? How the teen had slowed his insults to intermittent profanities to complete silence. How what light there had been in his sharp grey eyes had dulled. The only moment the kid had seemed most alive had been _that_ one time, and he didn't want a repeat of that ever again.

 _Ace had been quiet, a little too quiet for Thatch's liking, but he had remained still and silent as Kai drew on his body like a canvas with a knife. Somehow, the chef knew something significant must have happened, for his protests had long died on his lips. It mattered little his words of argument against Kai anyway, for it seemed to fuel the man to go on, and Ace never was impressed._

 _The moment the blue-haired pirate had disappeared once again, however, had left a trembling fire-user in his wake._

" _Please tell he didn't do it," the teen whispered. Something in his voice warned the older pirate to tread carefully._

 _Gently. "What didn't he do, Ace?"_

 _Pained grey eyes stared imploringly at him. "M-my tattoo," Ace choked. "Please tell me he didn't touch it."_

 _Thatch kept his face calm, belying the aching rush of sadness for the younger pirate. The tattoo must have meant something to the kid, he thought, as his eyes drifted to the scarred mess that was_ ASCE _. The letters were still visible, but the little of scars and caked blood gave the tattoo an image of a horror story come to life._

" _I'm sorry, kid," he said softly._

 _The hope in the other's eyes went out like a light. In its place came a film of tears that caught on the teen's lower eyelashes before streaking down his cheeks. Ace's chest seemed to heave as his shoulders hunched in on himself. Thatch looked away, wanting him to have a moment to collect himself._

 _When all but five minutes had passed and the teen seemed to stop choking on his breath, he carefully ventured a, "Are you alright?"_

 _Ace sniffed. "No, I'm really not."_

" _Do you want to talk about it?" When his question was met with a look of attempted incredulity, he shrugged. "It's just you and me, Ace. Right now, we have nothing but each other. You might as well."_

 _The kid appeared to consider his words. He seemed to agree though as he snorted. "Guess you're right," he muttered under his breath. Speaking a little louder, he explained, "It was a tribute to my brother, Sabo." Grey eyes closed as a pained grimace crossed his facial features, as if saying the words pained him. "He was my brother," he repeated. "Killed when we were ten because he craved the freedom from the gilded cage he was trapped in. Killed because some assholes thought that he was in their way when they could have ignored him. Killed because I was too weak to protect my own little brother._

" _My brother, Sabo, who was smart, logical, and loved to read. The only one who had sense in his ridiculously curly blond head. The first person I had grown up with." Another streak of tears escaped the tightly clenched eyelids. "The S" – a deep breath – "is what his jolly roger would have looked like had he sailed on, alive. It's my tribute to him. It's also my hope that he could venture through the seas with me, with his mark on my arm. But I-" Ace choked here. "I couldn't even- even- I couldn't even protect that!"_

 _As Ace spoke, Thatch felt the stirrings of pity for the young pirate before him. No one had known he had suffered from the loss of a brother. His mind's eye saw his own brothers and sisters on the Moby Dick. The thought of losing any of them – especially his closer siblings – was enough to send him near a heart attack. He loved them so, so much. And here the teen was, speaking of years of mourning and guilt. For the it may have been years since this Sabo had passed on, but Ace sure had not moved on from his brother's death._

" _I'm sorry. He must have been a great brother, and I'm so sorry for your loss."_

 _Ace laughed weakly. "He was," he agreed. "But you wouldn't know that."_

 _Thatch shrugged. "Of course I do. He had you for a brother."_

 _The teen's head shot up from where he was staring at the floor. "What?"_

 _Before the anger could cloud the kid's judgement, the Whitebeard pirate smiled softly._ So easy to ruffle his feathers, _he thought. "He had a brother who, to this day, mourns him. Though he would have wanted you to live life happily, it's quite clear to me he had a brother who had loved him and had cared for him as much as you could have. And what greater blessing is there than that?" At the kid's stunned expression, he laughed. "He was one lucky guy, Ace. For him to have a brother like you, it says just as much about him too. Not everyone has a chance to be loved so unconditionally."_

 _Ace blushed as he sputtered, "Unconditionally? W-who said?! I didn't love him unconditionally!"_

" _Really?"_

" _Of course! I didn't like the way h-he would nag at me for not sharing more of my food, or how he would force me to learn to read or to be polite to people or—"_

" _He sounds like a great brother to me too."_

 _Ace glared at him. "He does not—!" Realisation seemed to catch up with him then and he scowled. "You are such a jerk."_

 _Thatch laughed. "A jerk who made you realise how great you both actually are."_

 _The teen's glower softened then and he looked away. All at once, the previous mirth had died down and the kid slumped forward again. After a moment of silence, the kid muttered softly, almost reluctant, "I'm going to need a while."_

 _The chef nodded, but then verbalised an_ Okay _since Ace wouldn't be able to see it. The rest of the time for that brief respite was spent in silence. It was broken only by the kid's sniffles and the way his chains would_ click _whenever his body jerked with a muffled sob._

 _Thatch dedicated the time to crafting up a vengeance._

* * *

Ace dreamed of fire.

His dreams saw visions of bloodied hands reaching out for him, of the smell of burnt flesh, of the cries of his brothers as the flames seared a path of destruction before his eyes. Trees fell in their wake as the green withered into cracked pieces of black and brown. He heard the crunch of leaves as they crawled towards him for help, their mouths open to beg. Their screams echoed in his skull.

The dancing flames around him flared.

 _Control the fire, Ace._

He blinked. This wasn't his fire. He could control his fire, but this was wild and beyond his control. This was the fire that wiped out Grey Terminal.

 _It's your fire._

His fire could never make Luffy afraid.

 _Control it! Before someone gets-_

His was different, he insisted.

The blaze flared to a height that stunned him, roaring over the howls of anger and pain coming from before him. His body tingled from the heat and he could almost swear that the lick of flames on his skin was painful.

 _You're going to hurt someone. Your fire is only meant to destroy._

His mind's eye saw the Grey Terminal and he gasped. Looking at the destruction around him, Ace shook his head at the sight, trying to deny the feeling of churning fear in his stomach. He reached deep into himself and _yanked_ at his Devil Fruit to stop the flames but, as he suspected, nothing happened.

This isn't my flames, he shouted.

The Grey Terminal slowly morphed into the Moby Dick. The grim faces of Whitebeard and his crew stared blankly at Ace as grey smoke billowed into the clear sky. Thatch stood at the forefront, his lips parted loosely, as if to say, _Look what's happening to us. Look._

Ace gripped at his hair. This wasn't him! This wasn't–! _STOP IT!_

A bright orange light filled his eyes.

Ace kept dreaming of fire.

* * *

 **87 Days**

Thatch chewed the insides of his cheek. He leaned his head on the stone wall behind him, wanting to close his eyes and sleep, but didn't bother to try. It has been over a week since they had been taken and, in that time, he knew nothing would knock him out until another whole long day had passed. The place stank of danger and blood as it was. _Ace's blood_ , his mind whispered. Sleeping was a luxury his body knew it couldn't afford.

But what was worse – not worse than Ace's predicament, of course – was the utter _boredom_.

He felt guilty even thinking it, but he was bored out of his mind. There was only so much time he could think of revenge plans or keeping up with the stale foods Kai forced him to eat. Watching what…watching Ace's struggles was painful and the sessions dragged out all the more because of it. But beyond all that, Thatch was about to go crazy in the cell.

To keep himself busy again, he ran through the calculations in his head for the umpteenth time that day. His family should have tracked down the perpetrator behind their disappearance by now. If Izo had a say (and he bet the pirate darn well did), he would have readied his division for despatch and medical assistance. Marco would have a battle strategy in place: go in, secure the area, secure the injured, and leave no area for hostilities to escape. Thatch only hoped they were closing in by now. The only downside was that Ace was now separated from him.

They were lucky, he supposed, that Ace hadn't been stuck with Marco. The mother-hen would have probably escaped his chains just to whack Kai a good one before he even laid a second hit on Ace. The stupid blonde worried too easily, after all, and Thatch knew his first brother had prepared himself to accept the young rookie as a brother before…all of this had happened.

He sighed. What a way for his first trip off Moby Dick in years to go.

Footsteps cut off his train off thought and the Whitebeard pirate reflexively sat up straighter. His body tensed as the familiar silhouette of his captor came into view, though bulkier than usual.

His attention focused on the unconscious pirate slung over Kai's shoulder. The blue-haired pirate didn't comment and instead slid the cell door open enough for him to step through.

He dropped the fire-user to the ground before moving to re-chain the teen with the same metal clamps from three days prior. Thatch imagined snatching the cuffs away before looping the long, rusted chains around the jerk's neck. He'd slam one cuff into his face – hard enough to make him see stars – and then he would tighten the chokehold and watch as the panic build in his electric blue eyes. Oh, but he wouldn't kill him, the commander distractedly thought. He would drive him unconscious, so his family could have the spares.

"That's quite the scary face you have there, Commander," a mild voice interrupted the beautiful image he had pictured in his head.

Thatch snapped his attention back to reality. He breathed, deeply, to calm the red haze of bloodlust. He bit back a snarl. "Oh, you've seen nothing yet."

Kai eyed him, unimpressed. He hummed under his breath. "Could I take that to mean you do have something to offer me?" He stepped away to admire his work in keeping the fire-user in place. Thick seastone metal cuffs clamped tight around Ace's thin wrists. The teen was held, half-hanging, in the air as the manacles were held over his head, though long enough for his knees to rest firmly on the ground. Thatch couldn't tell from the cell's poor lighting, but the kid appeared to be in better shape than he had been 3 days ago. There was more colour in his cheeks and his wounds looked clean.

A sudden sharp pain bloomed on his cheek and Thatch gasped in surprise. "Couldn't have given a guy some warning, could you?" he sneered after collecting himself.

Kai's answering glare was chilling. "Your lives are in _my_ hands. Your daily sustenance, the space you sit in, the air you breathe!" he snarled. He crouched before the Whitebeard, eyes wide and unblinking. "And yet you find me so unworthy of your attention."

Thatch felt his lips curl in disdain. "Oh, trust me." Low and dangerous. "You will have nothing _but_ our undivided attention."

With that, he spit in the little shit's face.

* * *

Marco sat slumped, hunched over, in his brother's chair. He pressed the tips of his forefinger and thumb against the bridge of his nose. Eyes closed, he breathed heavily as he allowed himself this moment of weakness.

Thatch's room was the only room among the crew to have its own kitchen, and though the man himself had not been home for a week, the lingering whiff of spices was still present. It made the zoan miss him. He missed the brother who would bother him every day of the week.

His family had located their suspected whereabouts. They had already destroyed two bases which they had hoped held the two, and now they were left with four more to go.

They even have plans in place for each location, and everyone – from medical to the battle support team – had been briefed and were roaring to go.

To be frank, the force they sent was an overkill. Over a hundred men going in for two individuals would leave too many with little to do, but Oyaji was alright with it. So long as the commanders went first and secured both perpetrators and their…brother and not-brother.

But now, there was nothing for _Marco_ to do until they reached the next hideout. He blinked at the empty room. The cabin was immaculate. The bed was made, the books of recipes and novels were neatly lined on the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and the desk was almost wiped clean. It was so Thatch. Obsessive and orderly and calm.

He wondered if his brother was given enough to eat. The chef was always so crazy about ensuring everyone is fed he forgot about himself. Surely the fates would be kind enough on him that he would not go hungry. He wondered if Thatch was warm, if he was comfortable, if he was alright.

A part of his mind also pictured a starved, thin teenager. Would this be what finally broke him? His spirit had already fractured in so many ways. Perhaps this new ordeal would be the final nail in the coffin. He mentally played out dark stormy eyes dulling into lifeless grey. The spark Oyaji had seen in him would be long extinguished. Partly by the Whitebeards, and then by some _person_ who dared to step out of line.

Marco had to blink heavily in his efforts to ignore the ache in his chest. The Phoenix in him keened at his silence. It was a moment of weakness, yes.

He was allowed this, he was sure, because his brothers and sisters often nagged at him to take a break. Because it was alright for him to worry and to take a moment to regain himself. Because they needed him to be as content as he needed them to be safe.

This was, by far, not the first time his family had been taken. But, through the pain in his heart and the rattling rush of air in his lungs, the crippling fear never became easier to bear.

He hid his face in his hands. It was so hard, wondering if his family would come home alive.

 _Be safe_.

He breathed.

 _Be safe. Take care of him, but please come home._

* * *

Thatch snapped to awareness when a soft but hoarse voice reached his ears. He lifted his head off the cold stone wall and lowered his gaze to see a pair of tired grey eyes staring at him.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Ace said quietly.

The older man took a moment to answer as he took in the sight of the teen before him. There was an alertness in the fire-user that had been absent just days before. The kid was no longer slumped against his chains and though he still looked like he needed a month's worth of sleep, it was clear some strength had returned to him. Not enough, the chef hoped, to start spitting insults to their captor again, however.

He kept his answer light. "Oh, I'm the sleepyhead? I've been watching you sleep for hours."

The kid huffed. "That just makes you sound creepy, you know."

"Oh well, you know. Trapped in a cell all hours of the day. It leaves you dreadfully without something to do," Thatch quipped. His voice turned serious, as he went on, "How are you feeling, Ace?"

"I'm fine," came the robotic answer. "Stop asking me that, you creep."

A raised eyebrow. "Oh? So everything I do is creepy now."

Thatch watched the small upward curl on Ace's lips. "I won't stop you from believing what you want," the kid said again. "For the record, I've always thought you guys were creepy."

" _We_ were creepy?"

"I _was_ aware that you and your family had been creeping around me while I slept on your ship, you know. Skulking around, _staring_ at me."

The older man decided not to mention that all the 'skulking around' had only been done by the teen himself. Nor did he bother to deny his crew's actions– they had indeed watched over the kid as he slept. It was the only way they could monitor his health without his violent refusal to cooperate. "You don't sound that upset," he remarked.

Ace snorted. He made an awkward wave with his hands, in which movement was significantly limited by the present chains, to gesture at their environment. "Having a drastic change in perspective right now, Thatch."

Thatch's answering chuckle was quiet in the cold cell. And wouldn't it have been great if that change in perspective had happened, say, two weeks ago.

"What happened to your face?"

The question reminded the chef of the sting on his cheek. "Our captor got a little jealous, is all."

Ace was silent for a moment. His eyebrows were furrowed as his gaze focused on what must be the red mark on his face, as if careful to avoid any eye contact with the older pirate.

"It appears our captor is getting a little frustrated that his plans are being thwarted," Thatch went on, trying to keep the conversation going. This must be the first civil conversation they had had in all the 87 days he had known him. "Don't worry about me. You're more banged up than I am."

Ace rolled his eyes. "I'm not worried," came his predictable answer.

"Of course not."

"I'm not!"

"Okay, you're not."

"I said I'm-" Ace paused when the other's words caught up with him.

Thatch grinned when a pair of grey eyes finally glowered heatedly at him. The moment they made eye contact, however, had the fire-user pausing before he looked away with a scowl.

"Jerk," the teen muttered. "About time you got hit too. 'not fair I keep getting all the attention."

"You're right. I'm glad he hit me." The Whitebeard's words no longer held any trace of amusement. "You have nothing to do with this. It's not right that he's hurting you because of us." Ace just looked annoyed, probably because this wasn't the first time he'd said it. He hastened to continue, "With you…out of commission for three days and your penchant to be a stubborn little shit, it appears he's reaching a point where–"

"–where he's less in control of himself," Ace finished. To his credit though, the kid was still frowning at the other pirate, his expression not unlike a mix of uncertainty and disbelief. "You're not saying what I think you're suggesting, are you?" he asked slowly.

Thatch leaned forward as far as he could to hold eye contact with the kid. A rush of anticipation curled in his gut as he grinned almost manically. "Our foremost goal here is survival till those slowpokes bust us out of here, Ace. Like you said, it's not fair that he's focusing all his attention on you- I mean, everything about you is special but scum like him has no place even breathing the air around you–" he inwardly laughed when the kid flushed "–If we could better distribute his attention between us, by all logic we should be able to last out whatever he has in store for us."

Ace stared at him as if he was mad. "Or he could put a bullet in our heads and we'd die instantly."

"Or we could take our chance and work to survive this together," the chef shot back. "Think about it. We get to control some part of what happens to us. Don't you want that?"

The fire-user's uncertainty became more pronounced. "I want to tear him apart," he said seriously.

"Then what's the problem? You should be jumping on board this plan!"

"What plan? It's not even a- do you have some kind of death wish?"

" _I_ have a death wish?" Thatch retorted, frowning. He glanced at the cell door to ensure they wouldn't have any surprise visitors any time soon. "Says the person who've been trying to assassinate Oyaji for weeks straight!"

"That was different!" the fire-user hissed. "You may think it stupid, but that was _my_ life on the line. Not yours!"

Thatch sucked in a deep breath as any words he may have had died on his tongue. W-what? Was the kid saying that…

Ace must have realised what he had let slipped, for his whole body tensed, stilling as if bracing for a blow. His hair fell in his eyes as he shook his head in defiance.

The Whitebeard would have reached out to hold his shoulder – anything – but his manacles prevented him from it. For good too, perhaps, if that guarded glower behind the curtain of hair was any indication. Marco was right. The kid really does have issues, but now, now was not the time.

"Ace, for now, I'm going to pretend I didn't understand what you said," he said carefully. "But I'll have you know that my ultimate objective is for _both of us_ to survive this with minimal injuries. You may not feel the same, but I won't risk your life any more than it has to be if I can do anything about it."

The teen kept mum. His shoulders seemed to cave in on itself.

"Besides, not that you worry about me, I'll be fine. I'm quite the stubborn little shit too, you know," the chef added lightly with a wink.

Ace scowled at his joke (he mentally cheered at the reaction) and huffed. "Whatever," he muttered.

And so the planning began.

* * *

 **88 Days**

"-you can't even take a little rejection, no wonder you're still hung up over something that happened years ago!" Thatch sneered.

Ace hid a wince as Kai near shrieked and slammed the heel of his knife into the Whitebeard's side. To his credit, Thatch barely uttered more than a grunt, before ploughing on to imply their captor was as weak as he had ever been.

Perhaps this was what retribution looked like, the fire-user thought distractedly as he watched sweat slide down the chef's cheek. Was this churning in his gut…guilt? For making the pirate go through this to spare him a little pain?

Kai walked to Thatch's good side when the latter began snarling, "My father would never accept _you._ Weak, fragile, and _pathetic_!"

The fire-user tried to refrain from flinching again when the blue-haired pirate whirled around to slap the Whitebeard across his cheek. The next few moments had the teen biting at his lip as he struggled from protesting when the slap turned into punches and kicks.

Ace wasn't sure when it had changed but it had, and he could no longer deny it. Perhaps it had been the long week that they had been stuck in this hellhole together or maybe it were the 88 days of knowing Thatch, but Ace _cared_. He already couldn't stand by and watch an innocent civilian get beaten up for no reason at all. Watching _this_ made him want to throw up.

He cared that Thatch was getting hit. It made his chest hurt somehow when the other was pummelled into the ground. The simmering rage boiling beneath his skin that screamed for vengeance was another red flag to show how much he cared.

His breath hitched when the chef let out a hiss of pain. He didn't want to care, he didn't! It was the unnatural time that they were forced to spend together here, he mentally insisted. They had no one else now but each other. He couldn't help latching on to the one person who was on his side here. That should explain these disconcerting feelings, he told himself.

He didn't actually care that Thatch was hurt. That there was a family of many brothers and sisters waiting for him to go home.

They kidnapped him. They kept him for 78 days and then kicked him out when he refused to bend to their will.

That he spoke with Thatch and checked on each other's injuries whenever Kai left is because there it was important for their individual survival.

"I am tired of you," Kai announced.

Ace reflexively tense when electric blue eyes turned on him. He tried to hide the weariness in his voice. "My turn now?"

Before Kai could answer, Thatch leaned back against the stone wall behind him, his chin tilted up, his eyes dark with challenge. "Couldn't handle a Whitebeard for too long, huh," he taunted.

A look of rage flashed across Kai's countenance. "You are really…annoying me, right now," he said tightly.

"Keep up, slowpoke. I'm not exactly trying to please you."

Ace caught the sharp gleam of relief shining in the Whitebeard's eyes before Kai blocked his view once again. He tried to ignore the throbbing in his chest. More than that, he ignored the rush of warmth that he was spared once again because of the other's sacrifice.

Thatch was just following the plan, after all.

* * *

 **89 Days**

"For a capture, this must be one of the most cliché and boring ones ever," Thatch muttered.

Ace watched him, unimpressed. "Y-" He coughed and spit out a glob of blood at his side before trying again. "You've been captured a lot?"

Thatch frowned. They hadn't spoke for the past hours. That could explain the hoarseness in the kid's voice, and maybe that bit of blood had been stuck in his mouth for a while. He really was too tired to think.

"I chewed the inside of my cheek," the kid suddenly said.

The older pirate raised an eyebrow at the statement. Ace's unimpressed stare turned more pronounced.

"The blood," he explained shortly. A pause. "I'm telling you so you don't freak out and think I'm dying of some internal bleeding or-or whatever."

"Oh. Thanks. I appreciate that."

Ace rolled his eyes. "I'm also only telling you because you'd whine too much otherwise."

Thatch inwardly snorted at the explanation. Boy, was the kid in denial. "Sure," he said cheerfully. Before the kid could latch on to any form of annoyance, he hurried to answer the earlier question. "Not really. My family aren't keen on sending me for missions outside the Moby Dick often."

The teen's earlier expression of boredom turned interested. "I remember Kai saying something about that…" he trailed off.

Thatch smiled warmly at the unspoken request. He wondered what Marco would say if he saw the kid finally asking questions about the family without any ill intent. Wonders never ceased. "I'm a Commander, yes," he explained. "But I'm also the head chef. The head chef can't keep running around off-ship when meals have to be run daily, three times a day. And for such a large crew too. I mostly stay on board to defend the ship whenever we are attacked."

"Surely you have a substitute…?"

The chef shrugged. "I have several chefs under me, but first and foremost it is my duty. It's not just getting meals out, but catering to over a thousand people means keeping tabs on allergies, food preferences, nutrition intake, stock intake and…oh yes, and of course, preparing for over-the-top celebrations."

Ace nodded slowly. "I can see how that can require a commander."

"Doesn't make it all fun though. The other commanders can go off-ship every now and then, but I don't get that luxury." Thatch would have shrugged his shoulders, but the deep-set ache made him settle for rolling his eyes instead. "Marco worries that my inexperience in going off on missions would…land me in these situations."

The fire-user snorted at that. "How lucky."

Silence fell once again. The chef inwardly sighed. He had been trying hard to kickstart a conversation with the teen for the past hour (or hours, he couldn't tell anymore), but the kid seemed unwilling to engage in any beyond brief grunts and short answers. That, and he seemed to regard the older man with a sort of cautiousness that Thatch did not understand.

He had thought they were building some form of rapport the past few days. Even before Ace had been treated by Kai and his little absent minion he keeps raving about, the two had a sort of connection that could only be built in such stressful conditions.

Perhaps it was selfish, but the Whitebeard had still thought he could gain another brother somehow. It was an ugly, irrelevant wish to their present condition, but nobody said pirates were saints.

"Can I ask you a question?"

The question was quiet, spoken as if whispered between almost pursed lips. Thatch refocused his attention on his cellmate. His body immediately stilled at the serious gleam in grey eyes.

Ace had raised his head so the two pirates could look each other in the eye. His back was straight, though the older pirate could easily catch the slight trembling in his legs as he had been forced to stay on his knees for the past…days. His arms were still shackled above his head. Even then, trickles of blood slid down his bare arms as his wrists were rubbed raw from the tight manacles.

"What is it?" he asked.

Ace licked his dry lips. "We might not survive this. You know that."

Thatch narrowed his eyes. "I know," he finally said. "I know that. But that's not what you're trying to say."

"You're right, it's not," Ace agreed. "We might not survive this, so you might as well be honest with me."

"Our survival rate is irrelevant to your point. You don't have to convince me to be honest with you."

Ace's tentative expression morphed into a glower. "I-I'm trying to say something here! Just listen me out!"

The chef chuckled under his breath. "Sure, sure. Sorry about that."

The fire-user's countenance turned blank. Ace appeared to consider him for a moment, as if assessing how the pirate would take it, when an expression of determination flashed through his boyish features. "Why did your captain offer me a place in your crew?"

Ah. Thatch supposed it was about time the kid finally asked that question. He considered his words carefully. "I'm really not the best person to ask. Oyaji made the decision, and it took us awhile, but we agreed with him."

"You're the only person who can answer me, Thatch." Ace spit out another glob of blood. "So answer," he demanded.

Thatch wasn't sure what the kid was expecting from him. But he took in the slight stiffening of the younger's shoulders and the way the kid tried to stare him down with mild defiance. That tilted chin and the controlled breaths. The way he tried to show he didn't care.

"Why wouldn't we want you, Ace?" he finally said. "You're strong, you're kind, you're loyal. There's so much about you that makes you so special. Oyaji had seen that spark in you from the start." He chuckled lightly. "He's always been good at that. My brothers and sisters, we take a little bit more time than that, but we trust in him. When he offered you to be part of the family, we knew he had seen something we hadn't yet. That's why we went along with it. That's why we fought for you to be a part of us too."

The Whitebeard wasn't certain what reaction he had been expecting, but it definitely was not the flash of anger that crossed the younger's boyish features. Stormy grey eyes were narrowed into slits, and Thatch was _not_ imagining the way the kid's body was trembling with suppressed…fury?

"So what you're saying is that, I was asked on a _whim_?" Ace hissed tightly.

Thatch reeled back. "W-what? That's not what I said!"

"It was!" Ace spat. "Spark? What spark? I was trying to kill him! What you're telling me, what I'm hearing, is that he was amused and thought it was a waste for someone like me to die so pointlessly!"

"What the hell are you saying? I said nothing of the sort!"

"I'm right, aren't I? You said it yourself! Yeah, you trust him and you believe in him. But not even you, a Commander, can logically explain to me why I was picked to join your stupid crew! You just played along because he's your Captain!"

Thatch gaped at the onslaught of accusations. He tried to look back on the past few hours – the past few days, even – but he couldn't fathom this turn in behaviour. Sure, Ace was still prickly and distrustful, but they had begun to form a friendship of sorts, grounded on the understanding that they only had each other in this place.

"Ace, I- what brought this on? Why are you saying such things?"

If possible, the fire in the kid's eyes only brightened. "Because it's true. If I had done anything differently that day, or if we had met under different circumstances, your crew would have killed me." His voice grew quiet, though it did little to hide the undertones of betrayal and hurt in his words. "There's nothing special about me. I'm just an arrogant upstart who wanted the title of the strongest in the world. I attacked Jinbei for no other reason than for Whitebeard's attention. I took my crew along because I'm a terrible Captain. Even though I fail time and time again, I keep on trying to kill your precious Captain anyway. Deluded. Blind. Undeserving of a family."

Thatch at first could only stare in disbelief at the abrupt tirade of insults towards the teen himself. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the wide grey orbs that had locked on his. The fire-user was trying to tell him something, and he was sure it had something to do with how familiar the words were to- The Whitebeard pirate froze as a rush of memories slapped him in the face.

"So you have heard of them," Ace said, his voice low and bitter. A smile that might have looked cold if not for the way the lips wobbled stretched across his mouth. "That's what I heard every day. From your brothers and sisters. I hear the whispers. The gloats. How I should feel so lucky I was offered to be one of you, but I'm clearly out of your league. And you… You're trying to tell me that you saw something special in me?" The teen laughed breathlessly. "Do you really think so little of me, that I would believe that so readily?"

Thatch's eyes widened. "No, Ace, no, it's not like that. It's not that simple," he tried.

"How is it not?!"

"When we first met you!" the chef said quickly. "You created this wall of flames to protect your crew. You were willing to give up your life if it meant they reached safety. Not everyone could have made that choice, and in an instant too. That's what we prize the most, don't you see? The willingness to protect each other above all else. Because we're a family."

Ace scoffed. "Family. There are over a thousand of you. I'm not so stupid I'd believe all of you regard every single member as family," he sneered. "Do you even remember all their names?"

The first brush of anger washed over the Whitebeard like a small wave on the sea. "You're right, I don't," he admitted. "But knowing we are family is enough. In this world where so many people are an enemy, it is enough to know that we belong with one another, that we have people who would be there for us to back us up, for no other reason than that we can. To be in solidarity under Oyaji's flag. To know we are not alone in this world. That we have people to turn to. We may not know everyone, but that's okay. Because all of us have made the same pledge to take on Oyaji's mark. And that mark means we will be there for each other, no matter what." His mind's eye brought forth the memory of a giant man and a Phoenix carrying him out from the ashes of an island. "When he offered you his mark, he had offered you a family. I _know_ that you know what that means."

Ace looked stunned, but the expression quickly morphed into fury. "Sabo was different!" he snarled. "He was my brother!"

"Just as how everyone in my crew is my family!"

The fire-user shook his head almost violently. Dark trails of blood slipped down his arms as he roughly tugged at them, as if that would free the whirlwind of conflicting emotions in his eyes. "I knew my brother! He loved to read, to learn how to navigate the oceans, he loved to study, to train, to be better! He was scared of the dark though he would never admit to it. He preferred sleeping in the middle because that meant we couldn't leave him behind without him knowing. He liked chocolate milk, but he hates chocolate. He'd say he wasn't cold but he was cold all the time!" A film of tears had sprung onto his wide eyes. "My family isn't like yours! We knew and loved each other. We couldn't live without one another!"

Thatch was torn between feeling sorry and frustrated and angry at the insinuation that he didn't care about his own family. "I know my family too! Marco, Izo, Haruta, Vista, my division! I may not know all of them, but so what? Just because my family is different from yours doesn't mean that we aren't a family!"

"Of course yours is different," Ace sneered. "Seeing that you have to kidnap and force them into joining your ranks!"

The previous pity was swiftly overwhelmed by a level of wrath that felt foreign to the usually calm chef. His heart pounded like a ringing in his ears, and he had to fight the desire to go for a low blow. He wondered briefly if this was how the kid felt on a daily basis, this constant battle for control over his ever-mercurial mood changes.

"Don't," the chef warned tightly. "Don't you say it, Ace. I can take it from people on the streets who take jabs against my family. But not you. I know you know better than that. I know you're angry. That's why you're saying such hurtful things. But don't you ever imply that my family is not one of choice. They have given me everything I needed to survive. They are _my_ family, and I don't- I won't forgive words like that against them."

Ace's answering glower could have cut through steel. "Are you saying I'm wrong? You took me away from my crew. You kept me apart from them. You wouldn't let me leave. Not until you were done with me."

"You tried to kill our father! Were we supposed to congratulate you?"

"No! You were supposed to kill me and be done with it!"

Thatch reeled back in shock. Ace must either not have noticed it or had deigned to ignore it.

"I tried to kill your Captain," the fire-user ploughed on. "If I failed, then logically, he should have killed me! Not asked me to be part of his family!"

"Then you- what was it?" Thatch demanded. "Was it a suicide mission?"

"That's not the point," Ace snapped. His body seemed to heave with deep breaths. "And even if it was, that's none of your business! You still won't tell me why he wanted me to be part of your crew!"

The older pirate let out a hiss of frustration. "Because! Because you were strong and arrogant and yet so stupidly loyal you'd die for your crew!" he shouted. "Because he didn't want you to die so pointlessly. Because he could see that you were misguided, that you thought you could gain something you wanted by defeating him, but you were wrong. Because if he had let you go, you would have come after him again, or gone after the other Yonko. We knew you had met up with Shanks before us, but we also knew that man is a soft-hearted fool who would never have hurt someone like you. But Kaido and Big Mom would have slaughtered you in a heartbeat." Thatch shrugged his shoulder helplessly when Ace stared at him, open-mouthed. "Because it was the only way we knew you'd live.

"He has a whole large ship of children, Ace," he went on, almost pleading for the kid to understand. "You have to know that means having to have a very big heart of compassion and empathy. How could he have looked at you and then turned away? Knowing that that could likely lead you down a path of self-destruction?"

Ace seemed to struggle to get himself together. "So, that's what I was?" he said in quiet disbelief. "A _charity_ case?"

Thatch could have slammed his head against the wall if that would help. "No, no no!"

The fire-user's features appeared about to break. "He felt sorry for me. That's why he offered me to join his crew. Because he thought I'd go off myself somehow without his interference."

"I-I don't, but isn't it true? You just implied your attack on him was practically a suicide!"

Ace dropped his chin to rest against the top of his chest. His dark hair, greasy and probably matted with blood, covered his eyes from view. Something dripped from his face to the stone cold floor. "That's not important," he whispered. "Even if I had chosen to die, that's not his choice to make. He doesn't get to take that away from me. None of you can."

Thatch remembered the kid's earlier words.

 _My family isn't like yours! We knew and loved each other._

 _We couldn't live without one another!_

So now that one was dead, what did that mean for the other, he wondered, grief-stricken. He wanted to reach out, to touch the kid's shoulders. To offer what comfort he could to this child.

"Ace…"

"Shut up!" Ace raised his head to glare at him through a film of tears. "I-" he choked. He heaved in a deep breath to continue. "If I could, I'd off myself now just to spite all of you pretentious assholes."

Thatch's eyes widened. All his attempts to reach out to the fire-user from then on were for naught.

* * *

 **91 Days**

Ace refused to respond to Thatch's tries at a conversation.

By the end of the day, the fire-user suffered another broken rib and a lashing to his back.

By the end of the day, the chef's mouth ached from trying not to protest the injuries.

Ace only goaded for more when he did.

* * *

 **93 Days**

"I have enough."

Ace felt a chill go down his spine at the casual announcement. As if simply saying that the weather was good, or that it was time to grow a little bit more insane.

He looked up to see a pair of electric blue eyes flickering between him and the stupid Whitebeard pirate. Saw how Kai seemed thoughtful, as if assessing who should be next. He had born the brunt of that look too many times. It made him feel wary. But something was different this time.

Just as he predicted, Kai ran a hand through his hair. "My experiment is over," he said monotonously. "You were correct, Fire Fist. He truly does not care for you. It appears his initial protests had been for show."

Ace had to suppress the reflexive flinch that came from hearing those words. It hurt, he admitted it now. He wasn't sure what he had expected to hear from Thatch, but it certainly wasn't…that.

After over 78 days of hearing how much someone wanted you, to know that it had all been out of pity… His chest throbbed with a now familiar aching pain. To now know that it had been borne out of sympathy hurt. All their gestures of concern and worry– all of that had been a play on his feelings. He had thought that perhaps, just maybe, there was indeed something about him that they had seen and had approved of. And if the strongest crew in the world saw that in him, then surely that meant that there was something in him that was right. That he was in possession of something that made him worthy of his existence.

That he was worthy of being alive.

He knew it wasn't right to use the Whitebeards as proof for his life. But their promise of unconditional love and acceptance was a pledge that tugged at even his heartstrings. But he couldn't accept it if it was grounded on sympathy. It was offensive. _But_ , a small voice at the back of his head whispered, _maybe that's the best you can get. That you get to live because someone felt sorry enough for you_.

Ace gritted his teeth. That stupid voice should go fry itself.

"You do not have to worry, Fire Fist," Kai was saying. He must have misconstrued Ace's grimace as worry for his life. "You are collateral damage. I will let you go once I am done with him."

His words caught up with Ace's blundering thoughts. "What?"

Kai eyed him patiently. "I must have my vengeance. And if it means only the death of the Fourth Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, then I will settle for that. The death of one man can cause agonising pain across his family. But you, I will spare." He smiled serenely. "I can see the pain of their rejection in your eyes. You have suffered enough, my boy. I will not bring you down with me when they finally come for my head."

Ace gaped at him, sputtering, "W-what? You're going to, what?" He snapped his attention to Thatch, who only offered him a resigned smile. A simmering, prickling ire rushed at him at the expression. Their eyes met.

 _No_ , he mouthed.

Thatch shrugged. _What can you do?_

Ace watched with wide eyes as Kai daintily slipped out a dagger from his belt. He unsheathed it and ran his fingers along the underside of the knife. The shine of metal gleamed in the dark cell, as if eager for the blood meant for its sharp edges.

"No!" Ace shouted, before Kai could do more than take a step forward to strike the killing blow. "What about your vengeance? You're just going to give up, just like that?"

Kai raised an eyebrow at his outburst. "This is my vengeance now."

"I fought them for 78 days! You barely lasted a week!"

"You do not understand, Fire Fist," the blue-haired man said. "You would not understand the thirst for vengeance for what has been done to me. A week has already been long enough."

Kai turned away again. He raised his hand-

"Wait, wait!" Ace said quickly. He could only thank his lucky stars that the man stopped once again to glare daggers at him. "I-I have something to tell you. A secret!" he added quickly at the unimpressed stare. "Something that I found out about him that, that could help you with your vengeance."

Kai only looked at him with impatience. "You are trying to distract me," he accused.

"No, I'm not. Listen, if you don't like what I have to say, which should only take you about a minute to hear me out, then you can go ahead and gut him. You have nothing to lose here, Kai."

Thatch finally chose to intervene. His dark eyes stared Ace down as a frown marred his tired features. "Ace," he said, as if in warning. "Whatever you're-"

"-Don't talk to me, _Whitebeard_ ," Ace snapped. "I don't need any more of your pity."

The chef recoiled as if slapped. His lips pursed, but he kept mum and only stared as the fire-user glared at him.

On the other hand, Kai seemed to approve of the exchange, enough for him to humour the teen's request.

"And your secret, Fire Fist?" he asked.

"Come a little closer," Ace urged, keeping his voice low and unthreatening. "You wouldn't want to ruin the surprise for him, would you?"

Kai's blank stare was penetrating somehow, but the man leaned forward, close enough for Ace to whisper sweet nothings into his ear. The teen had to stop himself from gagging at the man's closeness. The sharp smell of mints and honey assaulted him, a stark contrast from the sweet tang of blood from the cell.

Okay, now for the grand plan, Ace thought breathlessly. It was stupid and reckless, but after deep breath, he knocked back his head and slammed his forehead into Kai's thick skull.

Above the loud ringing in his head, he could swear he heard someone swearing and the howls of a pained banshee. Something had cracked, he was sure, but he hoped as heck that it hadn't been his skull. A searing pain flared through his head. It felt like his brain was having a disco ball in there.

"How dare you!" someone shrieked.

"Damn it, still awake," he slurred in response.

Ace shook his head to clear the dizziness that assaulted him. Frightful blue eyes glowered at him heatedly before a hand slapped his cheek.

"I was going to release you! I was going to let you go!"

"You shouldn't have taken me in the first place!" Ace fought back.

He dodged another swipe at his cheek and opened his mouth wide to bite at the fingers in his face. The taste of blood – _not his_ – filled his mouth and he spat the offending digits out, relishing the ensuing wails.

"Ace, what the hell!" Thatch was yelling.

Ace ignored him. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. It was enough, he told himself, enough for him to ignore the searing aches in his limbs. It was enough. It had to be.

With gritted teeth, he flicked the returning Kai a glance, and summoned all the strength and courage he had into dragging himself up with his arms. The searing ache morphed into a sharp agony that rippled through his body in unforgiving waves. A muffled scream left his lips. But he kept going until he was high enough to lift his right leg to slam a knee into the pirate's gut.

Kai grabbed at his torso roughly, but Ace used the momentum to swing his other leg around the pirate's neck into a chokehold. He panted heavily as he tried to keep his bearings. The man beneath him struggled but he only tightened his grip.

 _It hurt_ , his head whispered.

Sharp spikes of pain tore through his entire body intermittently, like lightning on a stormy day. The throbbing in his legs was quickly turning into a burning ache that begged for him to let go. He shook his head. His still cuffed hands reached down to pat weakly at Kai's squirming person.

 _Keys_. _Where were the keys?_

If he could find the release to his shackles, he could at least fry the man into unconsciousness. Then he could rest for a bit, before he and Thatch could make their escape.

"Let me go!" Kai snarled.

"Try his pockets on his side, Ace!" Thatch shouted.

Ace raised his head to look tiredly at the Whitebeard pirate. Wide dark eyes met his, and he somehow understood that this was it. He either won and they both survived. Or he could give up and neither of them would walk home to their brothers.

In his distraction, Kai sank his fingers into a wound in Ace's side. The bright flare of agony made the fire-user gasp as Kai was sent to his knees and Ace to hang once again by his wrists.

"You will pay for that," Kai hissed. The dagger returned to his hand and he threw it at the latch at the side.

Like clockwork, the chains holding Ace up released their hold, sending the fire-user toppling to the ground. The manacles remained tight on his wrists. He gasped.

Kai strode forward to straddle the heaving teen.

"You are just like them. Just like them!" he snarled as he slapped the fire-user.

Ace groaned at the onslaught. For a second, he considered giving up. It didn't matter in the end if he was dead, after all. But then he remembered his little brother, and a ship full of brothers and sisters and a _father_ waiting for their brother to come home.

 _You sentimental, pathetic fool_ , he internally swore.

With what strength he had, Ace shoved the pirate off of him with a snarl. "You shouldn't have done that!"

The fire-user grabbed one end of his chains and looped it around Kai's neck. The pirate bared his teeth at him as hands found his neck in a tight grip. Ace slammed the back of his elbow into his cheek, only to earn a sharp hiss of pain.

One strike, Ace. You have one chance!

Past the tightness in his throat and the shaking in his hands, Ace dragged the chains taut in one mighty pull. He threw his body back to add to the weight of the force. Something thick and wet splattered across the top of his chest.

Something snapped.

A loud silence.

Ace breathed heavily as his grips on the chains slackened. He feebly raised his head to see the unmoving shape of Kai's body through blurred visions. Something was in his eye, darn it. He would wipe the tears away but he felt drained. The adrenaline rush was gone now. It left him feeling empty and hollow. Nothing but the coldness of the stone floor seeping through his skin.

No warmth for him. No kind words. No one for him.

"Ace!"

Oh wait. There was still Thatch. Still alive. Ace laughed weakly to himself.

"I've doomed us," he whispered.

"No, you didn't!" Thatch was saying in his overly loud voice. "You saved me."

"Who'll-" Ace coughed out some blood. At least, he thought it was blood. He stared at the dark, dark ceiling. "Who'll feed us now?" He laughed again.

Before he could answer, the sound of footsteps echoed through the cell. He stiffened. He really couldn't catch a break, could he? This must be that cabin boy Kai kept raving about.

Ace struggled to get back on his feet. He probably wouldn't survive this. But that was fine. He'd be lucky to be able to go out in a blaze of glory. At least…when the Whitebeards found them, they could carry the story of one Portgas D. Ace. Maybe that story would find its way to Luffy so the little twerp would know his older brother had tried his best to live.

He inwardly sighed. Living was so hard sometimes.

Ace kept his chin up when the man entered the open cell. The fire-user tried to move, only to realise that he was partially trapped in one place because part of his chains was now a decoration around Kai's neck. Well, darn.

The man approached him slowly. One arm was raised as if to ease him into calmness, but Ace wasn't that much of an idiot. The edges of his vision were slowly blacking out. There was no way he'd- he'd just let down his guard.

When the cabin boy took one more step towards him, the teen gritted his teeth and swung. As he predicted, Ace completely missed. Instead of landing a blow, his throw forced his body off-centre, and he began his descent towards the floor with a quiet sigh.

He must have blacked out for a moment there, because the next thing he knew, something was holding him up. There were voices speaking above him, but he couldn't make them out. And it was so, so cold.

Something warm touched his forehead.

"It's alright. You're safe now, yoi."

* * *

 **That is all for now! May the next chapter be better somehow! Do leave a review! :)**


End file.
